


A Brand New Angle

by fallsouthwinter



Series: The Cottage Years [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Crowley Has Neighbors, Crowley Interacts with People, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Existential Crisis, Kissing, M/M, Miraculous House Renovations, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Noodles, Now With Extra Dancing, Rampant POV Changes, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Supportive Aziraphale (Good Omens), asexual author, nonbinary author, pre-established pining, тэг заменён на Don't copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-08-11 18:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20157946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallsouthwinter/pseuds/fallsouthwinter
Summary: “Fancy a drive?”Aziraphale looked at Crowley, and a smile tugged at his lips. It had the same effect on Crowley that a black hole had on anything past the event horizon. No way out, time has folded on itself and you get to watch yourself stretch thin. But to be fair, that was just the effect Aziraphale had on him, period. Noodles. Or something.“Anywhere in particular you had in mind?”---Aziraphale and Crowley pick a direction.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for many reasons. One was spite, caused by many things, and the other was I wanted a long fic of cuddling and kissing that didn't have a high rating. So, I wrote. There's going to be around four chapters, give or take, I'm only about 2/3 done writing this fic.
> 
> Much thanks to my betas axiomink and [battmellamy](https://battmellamy.tumblr.com), to Bright_Elen and prettydizzeed for being awesome and letting me bounce ideas off them, and everyone else who listened while I screamed about this fic, including but not necessarily limited to everyone on the R1 and Ace Omens discords.
> 
> Title from the Queen song _Seaside Rendezvous_. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Where do you start with something like this? The beginning is usually a good place, but when the beginning is the dawn of time itself, that’s a bit much. Let’s start closer to the end, or rather, the End That Didn’t Take, or A.A. (After Armageddon). 

It was only after stepping out onto the pavement outside The Ritz that Crowley had no clue what to do. All the usual ideas (drinks back at the bookshop? St. James park? Anywhere in London that wasn’t The Ritz?) just brought forth a storm of unpleasant memories and feelings that made Crowley sick to his stomach. At a total loss, Crowley stuck his hands in his pockets, glancing over at Aziraphale, who was fiddling a bit with his cufflinks. Just standing there.

“Well-” Aziraphale began, and Crowley cut him off, the idea just popping into his head.

“Fancy a drive?”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, and a smile tugged at his lips. It had the same effect on Crowley that a black hole had on anything past the event horizon. No way out, time has folded on itself and you get to watch yourself stretch thin. But to be fair, that was just the effect Aziraphale had on him, period. Noodles. Or something.

“Anywhere in particular you had in mind?”

“Anywhere but London,” Crowley replied, popping open the passenger door for Aziraphale. He was thanked with a smile and Crowley managed some kind of sound before shutting the door after him.

“Anywhere outside of London you had in mind?” Aziraphale asked when Crowley had situated himself in the driver seat.

“Not really. Figured I’d pick a direction and just voom.”

“Well.” Aziraphale folded his hands primly in his lap and mused out the window for a moment. “How about heading south?”

“South is good,” Crowley said, throwing the car into gear and pulling into traffic, much to the horror of several motorists. When Aziraphale assumed his usual terrified position of bracing himself in his seat. Crowley tapped the breaks, allowing the Bentley to go at a more sedate pace.

But really, sixty was still much too fast for London.

\---

They eventually stopped somewhere, after the sky had grown fully dark. Neither Crowley or Aziraphale had any idea where they were, but that was hardly a problem.

They found themselves at the edge of a small park in a slightly larger town, which seemed to boast mostly conifers, picnic tables, and a swing set that had seen better days. Crowley hopped up onto the nearest table, resting his feet on the bench and uncorked the bottle of wine they had purchased somewhere between here and London. Somewhere on the road. A long road. Stretched thin. Noodles. Crowley took a swig of wine.

“So,” Aziraphale had said, once he had clambered up next to Crowley in such a way that briefly reminded him of a panicked bird, and then abruptly stopped. Crowley lowered the bottle.

“So?” Crowley offered, alone with the bottle. Aziraphale took it and tapped his thumbnails against it.

“Our Arrangement.”

Crowley suddenly had the urge to swipe the wine back. Instead he leaned back on his hands, desperately trying to appear nonchalant. Thank G- S-- thank fuck for his sunglasses. And night too, he supposed. The better to not see how Crowley would react during and after Aziraphale dropped the bomb he was terrified was coming. “What of it?”

Aziraphale took a sip of wine. “Er. With everything that’s happened do you think… do you think it’s entirely necessary anymore?”

“Angel, what exactly are you getting at?”

“I’m getting at -- oh.” Aziraphale set down the bottle between them with a solid thunk. Crowley was quick to snatch it up and use it to wet his drying mouth. It didn’t help. “I mean. It just doesn’t seem necessary to be doing miracles or temptations in the other’s stead since no one’s going to be checking up on us. So perhaps we can - drop that part?”

“That part? There was more than one part to the Arrangement?”

Aziraphale peered at him in the darkness. His expression was calculating. Shrewd. Crowley didn’t like it one bit, so he looked away.

“Seems to me,” Aziraphale said, voice quiet in the shimmering darkness, “that over the last few decades it’s involved a lot of spending more time in each other’s spaces.”

“That wasn’t a part of the Arrangement,” Crowley said. Mumbled. Hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t hear him.

"Truth is," Aziraphale continued, "I've grown rather accustom to spending time together."

"Have you?" Crowley asked softly, wine practically forgotten, the bottle dangling precariously from his fingertips. Something eased in his chest.

“I have,” Aziraphale replied simply. “So I was thinking we could drop our Arrangement and simply…”

“Spend time together?” Crowley finished when Aziraphale trailed off.

“If that’s all right.”

“It’s more than all right, angel.” Crowley’s chest was feeling funny again. Actually, all of him was feeling funny. Stretched thin again. He didn’t know what Aziraphale intended by making that statement, but Crowley was more than happy with it. “Hardly a trial to spend the rest of eternity with my best friend.”

Aziraphale’s smile then, the faint blush blooming on his cheeks, could have moved mountains. Crowley felt like he could move Heaven and Earth just from seeing it. Instead he took another drink of wine.

"I do hope you're not planning on driving any time soon," Aziraphale said, cutting the previous subject off at the knees as he wrested the bottle back from Crowley.

"Drive? What for? Do we need to leave?" Crowley asked, snatching the bottle back after watching Aziraphale take a large gulp, watching his throat as he swallowed, wanting to tug away that tartan bow tie so he had a better view. "Not like we've got anywhere to be. If at all."

"Quite right," Aziraphale smiled at Crowley, and Crowley couldn't help the smile that ticked back at the angel. He was starting to feel a bit warm and wondered if it was because of the wine. Or the fact it was still summer. When Aziraphale reached for the bottle, Crowley made it easier and handed it over.

He was fully prepared for the interaction of passing the wine over to Aziraphale and for the angel to take it. He was not, however, prepared for Aziraphale to take his hand afterwards, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s knuckles and intone softly “my dear” the same way he had toasted the world earlier that night. 

Crowley felt himself stretching thin again. He tried to say something back, but all that came out of his throat was a shocked “ngk!” Even so, he tightened his fingers around Aziraphale’s, in case he got it into his head that he should pull away.

\---

It was the following morning, probably around nine, but neither Aziraphale or Crowley really knew, they just knew it was morning and that was good enough for them. They’d been driving for about an hour, give or take, meandering their way through the countryside, Crowley going something close to the speed limit for once, even if it was because Aziraphale asked him to so he could admire the scenery. There was a little talk about when they should head back, but it amounted to two whole traded sentences and then silence.

The light starting to filter through the trees really was quite lovely. Crowley didn’t like the light at all. In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact that they’d shared only one bottle of wine the night before, and that Crowley wore sunglasses anytime he was in a generally upright position, one might think Crowley was hung over. But occult and ethereal beings don’t get hung over. Not on one bottle of wine, anyway.

Aziraphale had just broached the idea of finding a place for breakfast, which made Crowley even more surprised when, near the edge of some small village, hamlet, coven of houses, Aziraphale demanded, quite loudly, loud enough that Crowley jumped, that he _stop the car_. Only to become even more surprised, even alarmed, when Aziraphale got out of the car barely before it had come to a complete stop. However, when Crowley figured out why Aziraphale asked him to stop, he barely resisted laying his head on the steering wheel.

“You wanted me to stop the car so you could look at a cottage?” Crowley said, getting out of the car so he could give the cottage a proper unimpressed look. Aziraphale sighed at him and crossed the overgrown yard as Crowley continued. “And not just any one, one that’s clearly been sitting here rotting for decades?”

“It’s not all that bad,” Aziraphale replied, and Crowley eyed the house skeptically. There was greying wood, cracks between the stones, broken windows, and the door was abysmally off-center. There was a massive growth of ivy crawling up over the roof and winding it’s way up the chimney. “It’s just-”

“Old?” Crowley offered from where he leaned against the hood of the Bentley. “Decrepit? Amazed it hasn’t blown over in a storm?”

“It’s just seen a lot,” Aziraphale finished, cutting a Look at Crowley. “Like us.”

Crowley’s eyebrows made a break for his hairline and he made some nonsensical verbal noises. Aziraphale paid him no more mind as he approached the cottage, pulling at door. It groaned and creaked ominously on its rusty hinges, but eventually it swung open, allowing Aziraphale to cross the threshold. Crowley didn’t even bother to sigh, instead just shutting the car door and following Aziraphale.

The inside was worse.

There were cracks and dust and dirt and stains, and a very clear sign of various forms of nesting. Every cabinet was in some various state of falling to pieces, the wallpaper was yellowed and looked like someone had been peeling it off, and there were drafts from places that didn’t include the broken windows. Something rustled over Aziraphale’s head, sending down a shower of dirt.

“Charming.” Crowley came up beside Aziraphale as he brushed the dirt off his shoulders. “Should we check the upstairs? Or will the stairs hold, do you think?”

The stairs held, though one or two may have been given a very stern look from Crowley. The upstairs was no better than downstairs, but with an added bonus of a skylight in the form of a hole through both the ceiling and roof with no apparent cause still lingering anywhere. Ivy had broken through a few windows and Crowley couldn’t help but think it looked a bit like the abandoned room in The Secret Garden.

In the upper hall Aziraphale stopped by the window -- broken, imagine that -- that was placed right above the front door. Crowley could just see the Bentley parked outside, the weeds and grass in the yard almost the same height as the hood. “So,” Crowley began as he looked at Aziraphale looking out the window. “Mind telling me what this is all about?”

Something changed in Aziraphale’s posture, like he was remembering where his body was and had a take a moment to realign himself with this reality. “Ah. I was thinking - well. London is nice, but I’ve been living there for over two hundred years. Thought a change of scenery might be nice. Away from the crowds and…” Here Aziraphale trailed off and he looked at Crowley mutely. 

Crowley crossed his arms and nearly leaned against the wall, but at the last second remembered where he was and didn’t. After six thousand years of, well, rejection, he didn’t dare hope this was going where he thought it was. Even after their conversation the night before, he still wouldn’t be surprised if Aziraphale traipsed off into the sunset. Wasn’t like it never happened before. Crowley drew in a sharp breath, trying to ease the pain swirling in his chest. He felt himself stretching thin again. “Settle down in the country?” He had to force the next words out of his throat and past his tongue. “By yourssself?”

Looking surprised, then abashed, Aziraphale shook his head. “No, my dear. I’d only want to do this if you were with me. I don’t much like the idea of being anywhere without you.”

Crowley was glad he took that fortifying breath seconds earlier, because now he couldn’t breathe at all. There was absolutely no way Aziraphale had just said what he said. He must be hallucinating. “You want to -- sssettle down -- with me?”

“If that’s all right with you,” Aziraphale said simply, watching Crowley carefully. Almost like he was scared. Just like Crowley was scared.

He swallowed hard. Tried to take a breath. Choked. Tried again. “It- I- of-- yes. Yes.”

Aziraphale’s expression was beginning to melt into what was clearly joy. And amusement. “Yes it’s all right?”

“Yesss.”

There it was, that _smile_ again. Crowley never wanted to see that smile fade away. It didn’t fade, though, just became a more thoughtful version of itself as Aziraphale rubbed a hand over the windowsill. “In that case, what do you think of this cottage?”

“I told you what I thought outside. I only think it moreso in here. Why on earth are you-”

When Aziraphale looked beseechingly at Crowley, he stiffened, the realization hitting him. “Angel. NO. We are not- I am not- do you know how much work this would take?”

“I guess you could say it would take a few miracles to get the place livable,” Aziraphale replied, not backing down in the least. His eyes gleamed as he gazed at Crowley.

He was going to stand his ground. There were properly maintained cottages all over the country, there was absolutely no reason to restore this one. Absolutely not.

\---

"Well?" Aziraphale asked hopefully when Crowley reached the Bentley. Crowley heaved a pained sigh at him and held up a paper.

"Miraculously," Crowley began, "the house and land have been for sale for years. No trouble at all."

"Splendid!" Aziraphale said joyfully, even going as far to clap his hands. "Oh, that's wonderful! Should we celebrate, then?"

Crowley folded the deed and stuck it carefully in his jacket pocket. "Whatever you want, angel."

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile. He couldn’t help the warmth that had been suffusing his entire being since A.A., feeling almost giddy with it. Not that there wasn’t a pit of anxiety lodged somewhere in the area of his sternum, trying to make it all come crashing down, but it was weak in comparison.

Clearing his throat, Crowley got into the car. Aziraphale, still smiling, did the same.

Celebrating involved three bottles of wine at an Italian place they passed by. It was Crowley who stopped the car without any input from Aziraphale, muttering something nonsensical about “noodles and all that.”

After sobering up, much to Crowley’s chagrin (“Not much of a celebration if we can’t stay drunk, if you ask me”) they were back in the Bentley. The closest hardware store of any kind was in Worthing. Honestly, the closest of everything was in Worthing. Aziraphale stated he wanted to get samples and swatches to get some ideas about what to do to the place. He did not appreciate Crowley's suggestion of bulldozing the cottage to put it out of its misery.

Back in the cottage, the afternoon sun glinting through the fixed windows, it gave the place a warm feeling instead of earlier when it just seemed to have an old, dusty quality. The woodworm had been bullied out of the place, as had any other nesting creatures, although the birds were carefully hedged into the bramble nearby.They left the fox sunning itself on the roof of the shed alone, after all, it was outside. The wallpaper was stripped, the wood convinced it was perfectly new, and the many, many, _many_ holes were patched.

By the time they were finished with the structural miracles, night was beginning to fall. The main bank of windows in the sitting room faced full west, and you could just see the sunset through the trees. Crowley had miracled up his record player and took some time flipping through the albums that came with it. Aziraphale and an open bottle of wine sat nearby, Aziraphale humming over swatches as wine bottles couldn’t hum (but they could sing). Crowley wasn’t sure how many he had gotten, but he was positive it was more than enough, bordering on too many.

“What about these?” Aziraphale asked, holding out a fan of swatches in varying shades of beige and yellow. Crowley gave them half a glance before shaking his head and returning his attention to the record player. There was a lot more Bowie than he remembered in his collection.

Aziraphale huffed a sigh. “Are you going to refuse all the colors here?”

“No,” Crowley replied easily. “If I see a color that would work, I’ll agree to it.”

“Are you really going to sit there and do nothing, then?”

“I’m not doing nothing,” Crowley countered. “I’m visualizing.”

If Aziraphale had been literally anyone else, he would have been coughing “Bullshit!” into his sleeve right then. But since he was not, he merely gave Crowley an extremely Disapproving look and went back to his swatches. “Visualizing what, exactly, my dear?”

“What in the world would work for both of us. Something that could work with nineteenth century tartan and-”

“Twentieth century brutalism?” Aziraphale offered, raising his eyebrows at Crowley. Crowley shrugged.

“Call it what you like.”

A few minutes later, Crowley’s voice broke through Bowie’s demands to dance. “Refresh my memory, angel. That gavotte of yours, it had kissing in it, didn’t it?”

Aziraphale stared down at his swatches unblinking. If anyone but him could hear his thoughts, they might have heard a very loud, almost shrieking voice demanding _Why on God's green earth was Crowley asking him about this?!_

"At first it did, yes," Aziraphale replied calmly, shuffling the swatches like a deck of cards. One of them fluttered to the floor, followed by several others, so yes, it was exactly like shuffling a deck of cards. "Is there something you're getting at, dear?"

Crowley tilted his head back to regard the angel, and Aziraphale stared, started, and made a huge fuss of gathering all the dropped swatches. “I just think you should take a break. We’ve been going at this for hours. You can put the swatches away for a bit.”

"You want me to take a break? To do what? Dance?"

"If you like."

Aziraphale set his swatches down and stood, straightening his waistcoat and walked over to Crowley. Crowley looked up at him, surprised as Aziraphale extended a hand out to him.

“What I would like,” Aziraphale said, quite calmly, “is not to dance alone.”


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley stared at Aziraphale’s hand, then at Aziraphale in general. “You, er. Want to dance with me?”

“I feel that I am heavily implying that,” Aziraphale replied. A creeping sense of foolishness was beginning to snake its way into Aziraphale’s consciousness, and if Crowley didn’t take his hand in the next half minute, it was going to swing fully into embarrassment.

“I don’t- I never learned to gavotte. You know that.”

“I seem to recall one of us learned how to waltz in the eighteenth century.”

“I also seem to recall one of us having two left feet when it came to that.” And then Crowley was slipping his hand into Aziraphale’s, allowing the angel to pull him to his feet. When they got to that point, standing, staring, watching, looking, the air changed, perhaps a bit awkward, perhaps a bit frightening, like lightning was about to strike. Aziraphale drew in a breath, but his lungs didn’t seem to want to receive anything.

“Well. Shouldn’t you lead, then?”

Even though he knew it was coming, Aziraphale was not prepared for the feeling of Crowley’s hand pressing against his waist, taking his hand in such a way that Aziraphale could only describe it as ardent. A shaky breath escaped him, a warm feeling blooming in his chest that was working its way into a smile.

Maybe it was supposed to be difficult to dance to David Bowie, but honestly, dancing never felt easier to Aziraphale. Not with Crowley leading him across the floor, in sweeping circles, in small turns, never taking his eyes off Aziraphale’s face. Even when Aziraphale inevitably stepped on Crowley’s toes. The fifth time it happened, Crowley huffed such a long-suffering sigh that Aziraphale, unable to help himself, started giggling.

“Really angel?”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said through his giggles. “I am trying, you know.” And accidentally stepped on Crowley’s foot again.

“I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose,” Crowley replied, sweeping them in another arc.

“Honestly, what a thing to say! I would never do such a thing.” Of course, right then Aziraphale’s feet got tangled up in themselves and he pitched forward, right into Crowley. Crowley’s arm instinctively wrapped tighter around Aziraphale, and Aziraphale chanced a look up into Crowley’s face. Crowley was looking, golden eyes uncovered, and Aziraphale felt his breath catch.

"My dear," Aziraphale breathed. "Why were you asking me about kissing?"

"I..." Crowley cleared his throat, and Aziraphale watched a blush creep slowly over his face. "I um. Er. That is I... just-"

Crowley's attempt at words failed entirely when Aziraphale moved his hand off Crowley's shoulder and gently cupped his cheek. He took a breath, grabbing hold of every scrap of courage he could summon, and spoke.

"Because I've been wanting to kiss you for quite some time."

Silence reigned between them, save for the dulcet tones of David Bowie singing Without You.

"Have you?" Crowley asked softly, and suddenly Aziraphale was back in that small park, sharing an ill-gotten bottle of wine. He wondered why Crowley had to ask, had to keep asking. It would be some time before Aziraphale realized it was because Crowley needed reassurance just as much as he did, perhaps more. Even so, even without that occurrence, he was hardly going to deny Crowley anything. Not now. Not anymore.

"Yes."

The only clue Aziraphale had that something was about to happen, was Crowley's arm around his waist pulling him closer. He dipped his head slightly, almost imperceptibly to anyone that might be watching, but they were alone in this shuttered house, and the movement was like that of a strong gust of wind, toppling everything, but in this case everything was Aziraphale. That gust of wind was formed by Crowley's mouth, his warm breath against Aziraphale's face as he caught his mouth in an extremely soft, tender, almost timid kiss.

When Crowley tried to pull away mere seconds later, Aziraphale mindlessly chased Crowley's lips and the kiss changed instantly. Their hands, still joined from their dance, parted so Crowley could wrap his arms fully around Aziraphale, Aziraphale's hand coming to rest on Crowley's arm, caressing the material of his jacket.

The kiss was horrible and messy, with teeth clacking, noses bumping, the whole lot. Aziraphale never wanted it to end. They kissed like two people who had finally, _finally_, come to the end of their dance.

They paused to take breaths, foreheads resting against one another’s, before one of them would lean in again. They figured out better angles, while Aziraphale's hands found themselves slipping up to weave into Crowley's hair. Crowley's hands drew enticing patterns along Aziraphale's back, making him shudder and lean further into the kiss. He wondered why he waited so long to do this, something so wonderful-

-and immediately stopped wondering. Because he knew, he _knew_ why. He was terrified. Terrified of Heaven. Terrified for Crowley. Terrified of losing Crowley.

Terrified of himself.

Breaking the kiss, Aziraphale buried his face in Crowley’s neck, breathing harsh, as he clung to him. It felt like Crowley was doing much the same thing, but it was hard to tell, the static in his brain hard to think around. All he could really do was hold on and try to breathe.

Minutes, hours, centuries later, Crowley spoke, murmuring against Aziraphale’s ear. “Green.”

“What?” It was such utter nonsense that it snapped Aziraphale out of the morbid spiral he found himself in.

“Green,” Crowley said again. “For the walls.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “Oh, my dear. Really?”

\---

“We need to buy a bed,” Crowley said later in the Bentley. When they left the cottage, the walls of all the rooms except what was dubbed “the library” had become a charming “Garden of Eden” green, according to the swatch. The library had become a charming “Sensational Sand,” all the better to hide with bookshelves.

Aziraphale, who had been staring out the window for some time now, bracing himself against the dash as per usual, and wincing at the rain pelting at the car, took some time to catch up to Crowley’s conversation starter. “I’m sorry, we should buy what?”

“A. Bed,” Crowley repeated, index finger tapping the steering wheel with each word. “You know. The thing you sleep in.”

“Oh. Well. Buy whatever you like, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Crowley muttered something under his breath, which, if Aziraphale had been paying attention, would have sounded something like “Says the one who sleeps on a mattress they bought at the turn of the last century _laying directly on the floor_.”

The last bit may have come out a bit louder than Crowley intended, because Aziraphale turned to him and said, “Laying on the floor of what, dear?”

Crowley made a choking noise and swerved into the parking lot of the hotel. It was only after Crowley threw the car into park that Aziraphale peeled his fingers from the upholstery. “Still. Come with me. It’ll be more fun that way.”

“Fun?” Aziraphale thought about it for the barest second before inclining his head. “If you insist. I can be fun, should the occasion for it arise.”

“I never had any doubt,” Crowley replied mildly.

\---

That night, Aziraphale dreamed.

He dreamed of holy water, a bathtub full of it, an ocean, waves roaring against the shore, a dark mass of thunderclouds overhead. But instead, it had been him, dragging a screaming, begging Crowley towards it, dragging him into the surf --

That's when Aziraphale had jerked awake, and immediately wanted to burst into tears. He pressed his hands to his face, trying to calm his breathing. It was just a dream, just a dream, Crowley was perfectly fine, he could see him asleep, sprawled out like a starfish. A crack of thunder made Aziraphale jump, heart palpitating, and Aziraphale wondered if the speed of his beating heart could inadvertently discorporate him.

After a particularly loud, accidental, hiccuping sob, there was shifting next to Aziraphale. “‘Zira?” Crowley mumbled, cracking an eye open just enough to see.

“Oh, Crowley. Sorry to wake you.” Aziraphale turned away, wiping at the tears on his cheeks.

The bed wobbled a bit as Crowley shifted more, then there were fingers on Aziraphale’s chin, turning his head. Aziraphale didn’t open his eyes, not even when Crowley’s hand went to cradle his cheek, though he did surrender to the urge to kiss Crowley’s palm, feeling Crowley shiver as he did so, holding Crowley’s hand in his own, pressing it to his cheek afterwards. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale replied, shaking his head, but not enough to dislodge Crowley’s hand. “Just a bit of a bad dream.”

“Bad enough to upset you though.” Crowley let his thumb trace through a fresh tear track, and Aziraphale leaned into the caress, finally opening his eyes. The raw concern on Crowley’s face, eyes unmasked, made a lump rise in Aziraphale’s throat. “You can tell me about it.”

“Wasn’t much, really,” Aziraphale hedged, then felt his resolve completely vanish. “It was about holy water. And -- and you.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a searching look, then wordlessly pulled Aziraphale into his arms. Aziraphale let his eyes fall shut, burying his face in the crook of Crowley’s neck, breathing him in and feeling the lump in his throat start to unstick.

“It’s just the rain, angel,” Crowley murmured when another roll of thunder made Aziraphale shudder, voice a soothing balm over Aziraphale’s cracked and frayed nerves.

“I know,” Aziraphale replied softly, hands gripping the back of Crowley’s sleep shirt. It was just the rain. If it touched Crowley, he wouldn’t dissolve. Vanish. Disappear. Lost to him forever.

Aziraphale clung to Crowley harder.

\---

They finally did head back to London, if only to take care of business there, tying up the loose ends in the city. They parted ways at Aziraphale’s shop, and for a moment, when Crowley took his hand, Aziraphale thought Crowley was going to leave after giving him a firm handshake. Instead, he leaned in and gave Aziraphale a peck on the cheek before sauntering off, and honestly? It was somehow worse.

Letting himself into the shop, Aziraphale cast a fond gaze over the shelves of books, the senseless, homey clutter of it all. Some it felt a bit off since Double A, but the books, the first editions, were still there. He trailed a hand over the shelves as he walked through the shop, letting his fingers trail thoughtfully over the spines. His gaze swept over the shop, and he realized how many memories were bottled in this space. Most of them fond. Most of them with Crowley.

Clapping his hands and rubbing them together, wiggling his fingers into the air as if he were preparing to do a magic trick. Which he was, if only the proper kind (if you asked Crowley, anyway).

\---

It was a few hours later when Crowley returned. Aziraphale only became fully aware of his presence when the door to the shop jingled open, the door he knew he locked earlier. He might be concerned if he knew Crowley had stood outside the shop for probably a full five minutes before getting himself to walk inside, like he was afraid of what he might find inside. But as it was, he was unaware of any turmoil Crowley was going through.

When Crowley came into view, materializing from around a bookshelf, Aziraphale did not expect the way his heart clenched at the sight of him. He realized, right then, in the middle of a veritable field of flying books so he could see them easier as he tied them into stacks, that having kissed Crowley once made the desire to kiss him even more potent.

Finishing tying up the stack of books, Aziraphale straightened his coat and walked over to Crowley, easily avoiding the floating books, and interrupted whatever Crowley was saying by grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling him in for a kiss. 

He could _feel_ Crowley's surprise, even as a hand curled into his coat, drawing him closer, sliding his other hand around the back of Aziraphale's neck. It was all a little better this time, technique-wise, not that much else needed improving on, in Aziraphale's opinion. But Crowley was kissing him so tenderly that Aziraphale almost couldn't stand it. Almost.

"Sorry," Aziraphale mumbled into Crowley's neck when they had pulled apart, Aziraphale needing a moment to collect himself, but completely unwilling to let go of Crowley. It had taken so long to get to this moment, and Aziraphale would be damned if he'd let himself let a single opportunity like this pass by. Well. Maybe not damned. "I got carried away."

"I'm not complaining, angel," Crowley said, still wound around Aziraphale, words fluttering through Aziraphale's curls.

"Get everything squared away?" Aziraphale asked after a few moments of just _breathing_ Crowley in.

"Yeah. Taken care of all of it. Even left a forwarding address."

"My, aren't we thoughtful," Aziraphale teased, lifting his head so he could see Crowley's face. A single eyebrow arched over Crowley's sunglasses.

"What about you?"

"It'll take a bit more time, I'm afraid. Trying to make sure everything's accounted for. Or rather, what's all been bamboozled by Adam's shifting things."

"Bamboozled?" Crowley shook his head, apparently deciding it wasn't worth it and continued with his original train of thought. "And the shop?"

"I think," Aziraphale started slowly, "I might make it a proper one. You know. Books that are meant to be sold, stick in a few workers, pop around occasionally and say 'How's it going?' Something like that."

"It's your shop angel. Do whatever you like with it."

"I do wonder where I'm going to put all these, however," Aziraphale said, looking at the books still floating around them. One, _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ flapped its pages and got into some kind of bumper car fight with _The Silmarillion_. Aziraphale winced and snapped his fingers, tying the books neatly to different stacks. Honestly, those two.

"Did that only just occur to you?"

"No, I've been thinking about it for a while. Even with the room set aside for the library there just doesn't seem to be enough space."

"We'll think of something." Crowley pulled himself away from Aziraphale, even though he seemed reluctant to do so. Aziraphale knew the feeling, and caught Crowley's hands just to make the feeling go away some. "Now, how about a break for lunch? It's after one o'clock you know."

Aziraphale turned a startled look at the grandfather clock. "Oh, good _heavens_."

\---

They lunched at the nearby sushi place, sharing a bottle of sake and a pot of green tea before heading off again, stopping only when the bright blue of IKEA loomed over over them.

“Beware angel,” Crowley said, shutting the door to the Bentley. “IKEA is definitely one of Hell’s.”

“I’ve heard it the other way around at times,” Aziraphale replied, straightening his waistcoat, still giving the building a trepidatious look. “Should we leave a trail of breadcrumbs, do you think?”

“Nah.” Crowley grinned. “They’ll only be eaten by the people still trapped amongst the shelves. But don’t trust the arrows. They’re a lie.”

They made it to the bedroom section after getting trapped three times in the kitchen section, which involved Crowley almost bodily dragging Aziraphale away from something. Being a denizen of hell, Crowley was more immune to the pull of the place, but he still made sure to keep his eyes on the path.

"What about this one?" Aziraphale asked, sitting on the mattress and promptly sinking into it. "Ooh, it's like laying on a cloud."

"Uh huh." Aziraphale watched Crowley press a hand to the mattress. "Too soft."

"I'm sorry, not all of us find boards comfortable to sleep on," Aziraphale replied serenely, closing his eyes and clasping his hands over his stomach.

"I do not sleep on a board, I just happen to like a firm mattress. Besides," Crowley continued, sitting on the bed and carefully stretching out next to Aziraphale, "that's the last thing I want to hear from someone who sleeps on a hundred fifty year old mattress. On the floor."

"Clearly it's time to upgrade."

"Maybe not to a mattress that's clearly trying to eat us."

Aziraphale couldn't contain his snort, and rolled to his side to face Crowley. "Really-"

Whatever he was about to say got lost in the sudden momentary chaos of the chain reaction rolling to his side had caused. It caused a considerable dip in the mattress, which had Crowley rolling to the center of the bed completely against his will, and suddenly he and Aziraphale were in one another's space, face to face.

"Well," Aziraphale said eventually, "this is nice."

"Mmphgh. I suppose this mattress has some good points."

"Excuse me, can I help you?"

Crowley and Aziraphale looked towards the end of the bed, where a young, twenty-something Laotian man was giving them an increasingly panicked look. His black hair was tied into a messy ponytail, and part of his nametag had been corrected with white-out (which was now flaking off), which someone had written a "DA" over it, in front of a properly shiny, embossed "VE". The reason for his increasing panic was that had caught people making out on the beds before and really did not want to break up another couple in what might be the throes of passion. A lot of the time they ended up throwing things if they were tetchy about being interrupted.

"Ah yes." Aziraphale struggled to sit up, which the bed, as unforgiving as it was, refused to facilitate. The employee watched him for a moment before rounding the bed and offering Aziraphale a hand up, which Aziraphale gratefully took. "So sorry-"

"Don't apologize," Dave said, "I've had to help people off this mattress before."

"See angel?" Crowley said behind Aziraphale, having made it off the mattress by slithering to the floor, "I told you this thing eats people."

With a bit of Dave's help (“What on earth is a Kvalfjord?” “Part of a summoning spell.” “What?”), and perhaps one or two miracles ("No, I just - I swore we were sold out of that size.")

Crowley leaned against the counter like it was the only thing holding him up, expression placid. "Lucky us, then." Crowley slid his sunglasses down just enough so he could wink at Aziraphale over them. Aziraphale barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes), they managed to both select and purchase a mattress plus a myriad of other sundry that gets involved when you buy a bed, headboard included, in a fairly reasonable amount of time.

"All right, you're all set," Dave said, handing Crowley back his credit card. "Bed should be delivered before Saturday-"

"Don't have a more accurate time than that?" Crowley asked, slipping the card into his wallet. The wallet seemed to vanish before Crowley put it in a pocket, and Aziraphale watched Dave blink and shake his head.

"Um, Friday at the latest?"

"Excellent," Crowley replied, deadpan. "Come on angel. Let's get out of here."

"Crowley, what did you mean by summoning spell?" Aziraphale asked as they finally made it out into the parking lot, blinking in the bright sunlight of the British afternoon -- cloudy with pockets of blue sky here and there.

"Just a thing. Er.” Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets as they walked. “There's a demon trapped in the maze of IKEA and if you say the name of the products in the right order, you'll summon him."

"You're putting me on."

"I'd rather not have him summoned, to be honest," Crowley continued as if Aziraphale hadn't spoken. "I still owe him five talents."

\---

After the two had left, Dave found himself staring at the bed the men had just purchased.

They didn't sell brown tartan bed sheets. He was sure of it. He almost switched on his walkie-talkie to ask Becky if she had any idea if they got sheets like that in as some kind of seasonal item, but suddenly, he realized he didn't want to know.

Later, he’d go home and eat a disappointing dinner of chips and yogurt before falling asleep on the couch, without even the benefit of the television being on. In the morning, he’d have only a vague recollection of the two men who seemed to enjoy confusing people with sleight of hand tricks. Honestly, they weren’t even the weirdest or worst people Dave had dealt with in his years of retail.

What he would remember, however, would be finding his glasses that had been missing for a full week lying innocently on the coffee table like they'd been there the whole time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted from my phone, I apologize for any formatting errors.

The bed, thankfully, was delivered that Thursday by a couple of sweaty men (who were sweating partially from the late summer heat plus humidity, and partially from Crowley scowling at them the entire time). After they left, Aziraphale and Crowley read over the instructions. Crowley, in a fit of jealous admiration, merely snapped his fingers and the bed assembled itself. The bedframe trembled to attention like a nervous soldier, the mattress neatly made with linens and breathing a sigh of relief, and the cardboard and extraneous packaging appeared next to a very frightened outdoor bin.

Crowley smirked at Aziraphale, crumpling the directions in his hands. “There. Done. Easy.”

Aziraphale merely shook his head and headed downstairs. “Tea, dear?”

“Earl Grey,” Crowley replied, the crumpled paper bursting into flames and turning to ash before he followed Aziraphale down. “Hot.”

\------  
_Averting the Apocalypse does have a tendency to drain a being, ethereal, occult, or human. So by the time Aziraphale and Crowley made it to Crowley's flat, they were in a word, knackered. Which was likely why Aziraphale ended up saying anything at all, especially right then. In fact, they had just made it to Crowley's door when the words came tumbling out._

_"I didn't mean what I said, you know. Back at the bandstand."_

_Crowley turned, almost side-eying Aziraphale, but it was impossible to tell._

_"About not liking you. I didn't mean it."_

_A smile tugged at Crowley's mouth but he turned away before Aziraphale saw it. "I know," he said quietly. Crowley unlocked the door and held it open for him._  
\------

The cottage was slowly taking shape, as it could do so now that the general structure had been corrected. Crowley’s garish throne of a chair had somehow made it to Aziraphale’s two hundred year old desk, but since what was slowly becoming the library (as planned), Aziraphale didn’t say anything. Even if it did stick out like a sore thumb.

Unfortunately, the chaos of moving did not have mercy for anyone, be them earthly, ethereal, or occult. Even if some of the things were made slightly easier by the use of miracles. No moving trucks, for starters. But there was still a mess of temporary furniture placement, books and boxes and _things_ just everywhere, anywhere that was convenient for the moment and utterly inconvenient the rest of the time. And good Lo- Sa-- _fuck_ there were so many books. Not that Crowley was surprised, mind you, he just didn’t particularly enjoy having to make his way through a maze of them.

His plants were crammed against any available window, some even set on top of the stacks of books, which admittedly started a small argument between Aziraphale and Crowley, and the plants were moved to a box inexplicably marked “kitchen” (inexplicable as they were all marked kitchen) and Aziraphale toted some of his stacks upstairs properly.

Crowley had discovered the fence, or what was left of it, anyway, laying in bug-eaten, sundried, mangled pieces around the front yard. He even found the front gate not far from where the Bentley had been parked that first morning. He supposed it was the gate, since there old rust hinges on a few of the pieces of wood. Crowley vanished the rotten wood, deciding that a wrought iron fence would look suitable imposing.

\---

As the place continued to take shape, Crowley's plants and Aziraphale's books began to spread out as the furniture found permanent homes. When Crowley had placed a plant on Aziraphale's desk, siting it was the best place because of all the afternoon sun the room got before leaving, Aziraphale closed his book (which he was supposed to be shelving) and tapped his fingers against the cover.

The flower was some red thing with a yellow stamen thing and it somehow, managed to make the garish throne sitting at the desk look a little less ridiculous. He thought about the jade plant that had made its way onto the table, the ivy-like plants both green and purple that congreated on the tops of the bookshelves downstairs, the peace lilies taking up residence in the kitchen, the rubber plants almost taking over the sitting room, which somehow both did and didn't clash with the snake plant that found a home on the coffee table.

Setting his book aside, Aziraphale got up and headed downstairs, pausing by the window when he saw Crowley outside, mapping out portions of the yard with string and stakes, sunglasses tucked into the collar of his shirt, face framed in concentration as he worked. Aziraphale tapped his fingers against the sill and made up his mind.

Retrieving his coat, Aziraphale pulled it on before heading out. "I'm heading out for a bit. Do you need anything, dear?"

Crowley looked up, strings and stakes and sweat dangling from his fingers. "I can drive you if you like."

"Oh, no," Aziraphale replied, thinking fast. If Crowley came with him, then it would ruin the surprise. He wasn't sure why he wanted it to be a surprise, but he was determined to make it one. "I'll be all right. Don't want to interrupt your work. Can't wait to see what you have planned for the front garden, though I'm sure it'll be bang up to the elephant."

There was dead silence as Crowley stared at him, mouth clearly working to respond, and Aziraphale used it to make his escape. "Right, I'll be back in a tick!"

As Aziraphale hurried down the road, he heard Crowley yell after him. "No one's used that phrase in over a hundred years!"

\---

There were, Aziraphale thought to himself as he returned to the cottage a few hours later, definitely upsides to being able to perform miracles. With a snap of his fingers, all of Aziraphale's packages fell onto the counter with a startled PLOP!, including one louder noise outside that made Aziraphale wince. After checking to make sure no damage has been done, Aziraphale headed back into the house, intent on finding Crowley. Which proved fruitless. Was he on the roof or something? Instead Aziraphale when back into the kitchen to take care of his purchases.

"Enjoy your trip out?" Crowley asked seconds later, materializing out of nowhere. If Aziraphale wasn't so use to Crowley doing just that, he might have jumped. Instead he simply offered Crowley some freshly washed strawberries, which he took a couple of.

"I'll admit it was a bit of a relief to get out and walk, though the bus wasn't all that much fun," Aziraphale replied. He found himself watching strawberry juice drip down Crowley's chin and averted his eyes.

"Hm? Getting tired of the place already?" Crowley asked, his voice light. Teasing. He bit into another strawberry, and Aziraphale's head turned to watch, studying the movement of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallowed, and realized that when it came to Crowley, he was very, very weak. That mindlessness took over, where he didn't think, he just did. He leaned into Crowley and captured his mouth in a kiss.

The tartness of the strawberries were sweet on Crowley's lips, and Aziraphale drank deeply of the juice still lingering there. He could almost taste Crowley's surprise, that sharp inhale of breath, then Crowley was cupping the back of Aziraphale's neck with one hand and pulling him a little closer. Aziraphale couldn't help but think that perhaps, perhaps this was what Heaven should have felt like.

Aziraphale immediately broke the kiss. He meant to pull away fully, but he got caught in the stunning look in Crowley's naked eyes and nearly leaned back in. Instead, he cleared his throat and tried to _think_. Wasn't there something he meant to tell Crowley?

"There's something outside for you," Aziraphale said, voice hoarse, lips now tasting faintly of strawberry. Crowley raised his eyebrows.

"For me?"

Aziraphale nodded, turning back to the sink. "It took a bit to find, but I think you'll like it."

"All right." Crowley left the kitchen, but as he reached the door, he stopped. "Angel, you know I'll like anything you give me."

Aziraphale gave Crowley a warm smile in response, watching as Crowley headed outside. When he was gone, Aziraphale bit into another strawberry, chasing the flavor still lingering on his tongue.

\------  
_Crowley made a bee line for his bed, falling onto it with a soft "oomph." When he rolled onto his back, he saw Aziraphale standing in the doorway, looking uncertain. And tired. Crowley patted the right side of the bed invitingly. "Plenty of room, angel."_

_That seemed enough to convince Aziraphale, though he did pause to remove and fold both his jacket and waistcoat, and remove his shoes. Crowley couldn't help but think this was a good idea, and wriggled out of his jacket and kicked off his shoes, both landing in heaps on the floor._

_Setting his sunglasses on the side table, Crowley closed his eyes. A second later the quiet was broken by Aziraphale. "Alpha Centauri."_

_"Hm? What of it?"_

_"You never went."_

_"Seemed pointless."_

_"May I ask why?"_

_Crowley cracked his eyes open, and saw Aziraphale looking down at him from where he was propped against the pillows. "Because, angel."_

_"...Because?"_

_Crowley closed his eyes again and threw an arm over them. "Because the whole point was to go together."_

_"Oh," Aziraphale said after a long pause. "I see."_  
\------

Outside, Crowley found a rosebush.

There was definitely an _odor_ coming from the plant, but Crowley picked it up anyway, careful to keep his mouth closed until he could set it down, already knowing he was going to plant it well away from the cottage. Next to the path, to deter visitors. He lined it up with the string he had marking the lawn, patiently waiting for the map to be filled with fencing and flowers.

Straightening up, hands on his hips, Crowley looked at the rosebush. Something, a thought at the back of his head, was just nagging at him. If he knew Aziraphale at all, he knew he didn't pick this flower completely at random. With that in mind, Crowley swept back into the house.

It took awhile for Crowley to find the book, the one on flower languages Aziraphale had given him back in -- what was it? Eighteen thirty something or other. Eventually he found it folded up in a pair of trousers that was in a box of odds and ends and other bits of cloth, the box doubling as a side table exclusively for Aziraphale's "Reading Lamp" until they figured out where all the furniture went. Crowley flipped until he found the proper entry and stared. Austrian Rose.

_Thou are all that's lovely._

Snapping the book shut, he carefully placed it on the nearest bookshelf which was crammed to bursting already. He had seen Aziraphale sitting on the couch earlier when he walked upstairs, more intent on his mission than anything else. Aziraphale, of course, was still there, curled up with a book, with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits sitting on the coffee table, next to the snake plant. When Crowley came in, Aziraphale glanced up, then smiled _that damn smile_, making everything stretched and time all weird.

Aziraphale didn't get to do much more than smile, however. Not with Crowley striding over like he was. When he reached Aziraphale, he tipped the angel's chin up and kissed him hard. There was a clatter as Aziraphale's book fell from limp fingers. Aziraphale didn't get a chance to even respond before Crowley was pulling away, slipping on his sunglasses, and heading back outside - but not before snagging a biscuit from the plate.

No time to waste, he had a rosebush to plant. Planned on planting it next to the eventual gate, where everyone could see it.

\------  
_"Wait. Wait a minute." It took Aziraphale a minute to collect his thoughts. He was tired enough that he was having trouble thinking straight - not that he ever did think straight - but he knew these questions would keep him awake. Spring into being when he shut his eyes. So he tried that, shutting his eyes. "Who was this best friend you lost?"_

_"Really?" Crowley sounded so incredulous that Aziraphale popped his eyes back open to look at Crowley. Yes, the expression matched the tone of voice. "You don't know?"_

_"Should I?"_

_Crowley made some half word noises before catching himself. "Perhaps. I don't know. But I was... er. Talking about you." The last part was partially mumbled into his pillow._

_Needless to say, Crowley was surprised, shocked, going into possible cardiac arrest when Aziraphale took his hand in his own._  
\------

It didn't take much longer for the neighbors to invade.

He had seen them of course, Crowley had. Sneaking by with long glances at him and the house, under the pretense of walking a dog or child. One even waved at him (never mind the fact that he waved back). It was worse when it happened when Aziraphale was outside, he’d actually call out a greeting to them, either a “good morning/afternoon/evening” or just some “hello!” if he was feeling a little less verbose. One time it startled someone enough that they just walked off quickly, nearly making Crowley snort into his morning tea and Aziraphale looking mildly put out.

But of course, the braver ones eventually made their move. On a Sunday, of all days.

"Hello?" a voice called. Crowley had heard the footsteps earlier and had hoped that if he stayed quiet enough and low enough, whoever it was would just go away. Of course, he could _make_ them go away by any means, nefarious or otherwise, but he'd just rather not deal with whoever it was. Maybe he could slink around to the door before they noticed him.

Before he could do anything, however, a human popped out from the side of the house, spotting Crowley in his hiding spot in the shadows of the relic flowering lupines (but not before he slipped his sunglasses back on). The woman, looking like she had some Irish ancestry, had longish, straightish, brownish hair with gray starting, pale skin that looked like it wouldn't like it when it got cold out, and just enough wrinkles to suggest a full life so far. "Hi there! I hope I'm not bothering you. I just wanted to pop over and introduce myself to the new neighbors. I'm Margaret Hatter -- well, Margie."

"Mmmphgh. 'Lo," Crowley replied, unfolding himself into a standing position and saluting the woman with his trowel. He considered not offering a name and hoping Aziraphale would come out and save him, but surely he could talk to a fifty year old woman until she went away, right? "Crowley."

"Oh? Like Aleistar Crowley?"

"Not really, no." This was said with an air of someone who might be thinking _the prick stole my look._

Margaret -- well, Margie -- only laughed. "I wanted to say, you've gotten this place in remarkable shape. I was always telling people what an eyesore this old cottage was and how it needed to be torn down. Really, I'm amazed at the work done here. How ever did you manage?"

"A few miracles here and there," Crowley replied honestly, to which Margie laughed at again.

“And you’re plotting a garden, how wonderful! What all are you planning? I love gardening, though I don’t do so well with roses, which is unfortunate, because I just love roses. Are you planning on doing roses? Is that’s what’s planted out front?”

“Er, yes,” Crowley said, trying to think through all the chatter. “Austrian rose. Once the fence is up I plan on doing climbing roses.” Crowley looked at the map of string still strewn across the yard and back at Margie and came to the stunning realization that he _wanted_ to talk. About his garden, anyway. “Should- I can show you what I’m planning.”

Crowley wasn’t sure how long he stood out there with the new neighbor, Well Margie, talking about his plans for garden plus orchard (plans he had already related to Aziraphale at great length, he gave the neighbor the heavily abridged version), but it was clearly long enough that the sun shifted noticeably in the sky, and Aziraphale came looking for him.

"Crowley, dear, I- oh, good heavens," Aziraphale interrupted himself, spotting the new neighbor chatting with Crowley. The conversation screeched to a halt as both turned to look at Aziraphale, one of Margie's eyebrows raising before she simply grinned.

"Hello!" Margie called, only slightly rattling Crowley's eardrums. "Just popped over to greet the new neighbors!"

"Oh!" Breaking into a smile that did funny things to Crowley's insides, noodles or something, Aziraphale crossed the eventual garden. "Hello, my dear, I'm very glad to meet you."

After a very enthusiastic handshake, Margie looked between the two of them, hands going into the pockets of her rather smart cardigan. “So, you two are… partners?”

"In crime," Crowley offered. 

"That too." Aziraphale said, giving Crowley a small, almost impish smile, which impressed Crowley if he was being perfectly honest with himself.

Margie only looked amused. "Well, I can tell living next to you two is going to be interesting. I live over in Pineview," she continued, pointing off to a cottage that you could just barely see between the conifers and one unfortunate looking monkey puzzle tree. "Come by anytime you like if you need something. Oh! And I was hoping to invite you round to dinner on Thursday, if that's all right?"

"Of course, my dear," Aziraphale said happily, and looked at Crowley. "We'll be there, yes?"

"What time on Thursday?" Crowley asked.

Margie waved a hand in the air. "I'll come collect you, because honestly, sometimes things get a bit hectic and even I don't know. Or I could ring you?"

Before Aziraphale could respond, Crowley hand his phone out and a new contact open and was handing it over to Margie.

"All settled then," Margie said after adding her information and handing the phone back to Crowley. "See you gentlemen on Thursday."

When the new neighbor had disappeared behind the hedge the way she came, Aziraphale looked at Crowley. “I did come to tell you that I made lunch, if you’d like to eat.”

Crowley thought he would like to, and they sat outside on the patio, eating a lunch of crepes with strawberry jam, those odd little sandwiches with cucumber and dill with the crusts cut off, and probably an illegal amount of tea. About halfway through a sandwich, which was to say, a bite of, Crowley looked at Aziraphale, chin settling in his palm. "Partners?"

The smile evaporated off Aziraphale's face and he looked at Crowley uncertainly, hands clasping in front of himself. "Well. Yes. Unless you think otherwise?"

"No," Crowley admitted. "No, no I... I don't think otherwise. Perhaps we should... talk about it?"

"Talk about it?" Aziraphale echoed, looking at Crowley with an expression that looked as stretched thin as Crowley felt. He drew in a breath and nodded. "Yes, I suppose we should."

It was an exceedingly nice day. There were clouds, of course, but the sun peeked out in splendid rays like you would find in a painting. The wind blew softly through leaves and grass, ruffling them fondly. Birds could be heard singing from the conifers, swooping here and there.

And at a table, in a garden, by a cottage, an angel and a demon sat in absolute, utterly awkward silence.

Crowley shifted and felt that stretching feeling getting worse. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and then, hesitating a moment before he did it, set his half of cucumber and bread down, and took off his sunglasses, folding them up and set them in the middle of the table. Aziraphale watched as he did so, only looking up at Crowley when his hands retreated. Even so, it was more like Aziraphale wanted to look at the table, or the ground, or anywhere but Crowley. Crowley knew how he felt, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Aziraphale. Humming a bit, gathering his thoughts, Crowley spoke carefully, as if Aziraphale would up and run if he spoke too loud. Or… “You… you said once -- that I go too fast for you.”

Aziraphale stared at him in confusion, during which Crowley was pretty sure _he_ was the one who was about to up and run. Then realization dawned on Aziraphale, visibly, and everything about him softened. “Oh, Crowley.”

It was said apologetically, and Crowley didn’t want that. He nearly started speaking again, but Aziraphale beat him to it.

“I don’t quite know how to explain yet, but I feel like I’d like to…” Aziraphale paused, face pensive, eyes darting away from Crowley’s as he thought. Crowley missed Aziraphale’s gaze immediately but tried to sit as still as he could. Waiting. Watching. Then Aziraphale’s gaze returned, and Crowley’s heart pounded, drawing his breath up short. “I’d like to catch up.”

A wheezing sound left Crowley’s throat. “Angel- you. This isn’t- you don’t have to catch up. You shouldn’t- don’t feel like you have to catch up.”

“Then what should I do?”

“Go the speed you’re comfortable with,” Crowley said quietly, having to force the words out. “Don’t- don’t do this because of me.” He was about to say something about how he'd been trying, trying to slow down for Aziraphale, but Aziraphale began speaking before he could get the words out.

“I’m not,” Aziraphale said earnestly. “How can I convince you that I want to do this?”

Crowley choked. Took a deep breath. “You could -- say that.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale laid his hands across the table, and after a moment, Crowley did the same, grasping Aziraphale’s hands, palm to palm, as holy palms may kiss. “I want this, Crowley. I’ve enjoyed these past few weeks more than I’ve enjoyed anything in these past millenia. And I enjoy the thought of spending every waking moment with you.”

It took a moment for Crowley to find his voice. “Well, angel, I think it’s lucky I feel the same way.”

Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley felt dizzy from it. “It is lucky, you wily serpent.”

The clouds drifted on, changing the angles of light as the afternoon lengthened into early evening. Wind and birds settled a bit, and sitting at that table by the cottage, an angel and demon sat, hand in hand, in absolute, utterly radiant silence.

\------  
_Aziraphale blinked at the ceiling, which was more in his line of vision than Crowley was, then sat up properly so he could blink at Crowley. _

_"Best friends," Aziraphale mused. "I like that."_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning in this chapter for some transphobia. It happens right after the introductions, if you want to skip it, it's between these sentences:
> 
> _But Mick just erupted into a scowl that put the Hatter kids’ own to shame instead of greeting anyone._  
and  
_Either way, he was getting a little tired of attempting to talk to people_
> 
> Enjoy!

Thursday dinner, needless to say, did not go anywhere near where they expected. Of course, Margie rang Crowley, telling them to come over at eight, don’t worry, the door will be open, come right on in! Part of it could be traced to Crowley, but only a small part.

“What is that?” Aziraphale asked, leaning partially over Crowley so he could better stare at the monstrosity in gelatin form.

“Glace Fish Mold,” Crowley said, holding up an old magazine that came from only Crowley-knew-where.

“Hm.” Aziraphale studied it. “You sure it’s not a relative of yours?”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, mouth almost cartoonishly agape as he clutched at his metaphorical pearls (really though, pearls were not his thing). "How _dare_ you angel."

"How dare I?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at Crowley. "I'm not the one who brought back gelatin molds from-" Aziraphale peered at the magazine "-the 1970s?"

"Oh yes, I forgot. A dark time in the history of the world. For you, anyway," Crowley said with a grin. Aziraphale scoffed.

"I found plenty of other things to enjoy, thank you."

"I know you did," Crowley replied, and shooed Aziraphale away from his gelatin instead of leaning into him like he wanted to. They'd never get out of there if he did, and there would always be time for that later. By the way he was processing his thoughts, one might think he was looking forward to this dinner, but he wasn't really. He was more looking forward to Aziraphale enjoying this dinner. The gelatin mold was purely for his own amusement, of course.

After Crowley had safely wrapped the gelatin fish in plastic wrap and placed the plate in the fridge, he headed upstairs to get dressed, only to stop in the doorway when he saw Aziraphale. It wasn't because the angel was currently only dressed in a button down shirt and tartan _(tartan!)_ pants and was whistling whilst he untangled his suspenders. No, it was the outfit laid out on the bed. A nightmare of a suit, all in beige tartan. Fortunately it was only the waistcoat and trousers, but that really didn't make Crowley feel much better. He lifted the leg of the suit trousers up like one might a dead rat. "Angel."

"Hm?"

"When on earth did you get this suit?"

Aziraphale paused, thinking. "In 1928, I believe. Why? It's in perfectly good condition."

Crowley wanted to say something about how that wasn't the _point_, but he instead swallowed the words in the most long suffered way possible, and went to get dressed himself.

He had chosen a dress for that evening, telling Aziraphale earlier that he hadn't had a proper chance to wear it since he bought it last year. Aziraphale had merely listened, sipping his tea, and eventually said "You know you don't have to explain yourself to me, Crowley."

The dress itself was black and form fitting, with large stark white buttons down the left front from collar to skirt hem, which ended at the knees. The black stockings seemed to make it a bit too severe, so he opted for the aptly named stiletto heels, bright red and pointy enough to likely kill a man. But the only problem he ran into was when he tried to zip up the dress and the zipper promptly got stuck in the fabric.

Crowley glared at himself in the mirror and accidentally caught Aziraphale's eye when the angel turned, tucking a bright blue bowtie around his crisp white collar. "Something the matter?"

Making a frustrated sound, Crowley spoke. "Could you, er, zip me up?"

Aziraphale's face -- his _eyes_ \-- brightened. "Of course, dear."

Normally Crowley would have just miracled the zipper closed. Normally, however, Aziraphale wasn't there, cuffs still undone and bowtie still unbowed. To be fair, being zipped into a dress wasn't exhilarating, but Aziraphale's hand on his neck, leaning in and kissing his shoulder, that tie still untied dangling from his shirt collar which, now that Crowley could see it fully still had the top button undone? He might discorporate on the spot.

Swallowing hard and breaking his gaze from Aziraphale’s, he slipped a silvery bracelet over a wrist, which he saw Aziraphale peer at curiously. If he thought it looked very much like a brooch he wore back in Rome before triple digits happened again, he'd be correct. Aziraphale smiled, and wrapped an arm around Crowley's waist, pressing a kiss to his neck this time, making Crowley shiver. "You look bang up to the elephant, dear."

"Please stop saying that," Crowley grumbled, but the smile on his face didn't add the desired grumbliness to the statement. He snatched up his sunglasses and slipped them on. "Ready?"

"Definitely."

And when they stepped out into the chilly autumn night, Aziraphale in his tip-top overcoat and Crowley in a leather bomber jacket purchased in 1974, Aziraphale offered his arm to Crowley, which Crowley took.

Margie greeted them at the door and she very kindly took the fish mold from Crowley, trying her damndest to look pleased. Crowley, waggling his fingers at an unimpressed Aziraphale and followed her into the kitchen.

“I hope my dish wasn’t presumptuous,” Crowley said, watching as Margie set the plate on the table and the look of confusion on the face of the girl sitting there. The boy sitting there didn’t look up from his phone.

“You’re fine,” Margie said, smiling, and then brightened. “Oh, these are my kids, Isabella and Oliver.” Crowley could only assume that Oliver was the teenager sitting at the small table with a scowl to rival old Lucy’s who didn’t even glance up from his phone, and Isabella was the teenager who was now leaning over the fish mold with unconcealed horror in her expression. 

Isabella, at least, was aware enough of her surroundings to at least look up and wave before smacking her brother on the shoulder. “Ollie! Say hello!”

Oliver turned his glare on his sister. “Leave me alone.”

“Oliver,” Margie said, sternly, and Oliver rolled his eyes and looked Crowley dead in the eye.

“Hi,” he ground out and went back to his phone.

Charming, was all Crowley could think. Thankfully, before much else could happen, there was the sound of a car pulling up. Crowley poked his head into the front room, just in time to see Aziraphale enthusiastically greeting (via consentual hugging) a very, _very_ startled Newton and Anathema.

“Oh, it’s Book Girl,” Crowley said, striding into the room, making Newt and Anathema startle even more, which made the whole thing much more pleasant for Crowley. He pointed at Newt. “And the… Witchfinder? Book Girl’s boy? Mr. Anathema?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale admonished, and this seemed to shake Anathema and Newt out of their surprise.

“What the deuce are you two doing here, anyway? I’d say this is a coincidence I couldn’t even think up.”

“Oh, er,” Newt started haltingly, “I can explain that. Margaret is my mother’s sister.”

“Uh huh. Who just happen to live in the house next door to the one we purchased?”

“A small world, isn’t it, Mr. Crowley, was it?” Anathema said sweetly. Crowley frowned at her, and Aziraphale nudged him.

“In any case, it’s a pleasure to see you two again, I imagine we have some catching up to do.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Anathema exclaimed, digging around in her bag for a notebook. “I need your address, the letters I sent to the bookshop got returned and I never had a chance to-”

“Oh no, my dear, that was purely my fault, I completely forgot to send you anything with the new address.”

“Could have left a forwarding address,” Crowley muttered, but neither Anathema or Aziraphale were listening. Which was just as well, he had no idea Book Girl and his angel were pen pals.

He and Newt stared a bit awkwardly at each other.

“I like your dress,” Newt said haltingly. “Very um, sophisticated.”

“Ngk.” Crowley wanted to shove his hands in some pockets, but he didn’t have any. Maybe Aziraphale would let him use his pockets. “Thanks.”

Margie blew in from the kitchen and shooed them all outside, taking them on a tour of the backyard, which was where most of the neighborhood party was, under the watchful gaze of several strings of fairy lights. A very bored looking girlfriend of Oliver’s sat in a partially broken lawn chair, named Charlotte (who was going to Oxford, isn’t that wonderful?). There was a woman named Preeti Singh sitting at an otherwise empty picnic table who was aptly named in all senses of the word as far as Crowley was concerned, and while she was about as chatty as everyone else, it seemed more to be more of a case of nerves. She greeted Aziraphale with a much well received hug, but merely shook Crowley’s hand when he backed away a little. 

There were three gentlemen standing together, talking and laughing and making the most noise anywhere in the yard. Margie introduced them all in turn, Jude, Leslie, Mick, and each one shook Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s hands when introduced, and one even shouted in excitement at seeing “the Boy Newt” again, much to Newt’s extreme agitation (and Anathema’s amusement). This was the same person who, when shaking both Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s hands, slapped them on the back as well, far too jovial to heed any possible danger to his person. But Mick just erupted into a scowl that put the Hatter kids’ own to shame instead of greeting anyone. 

There Margie left them, having to tend to dinner things and went back into the house, yelling at Oliver and Isabella to come help her. Left to their own devices, and in a large sea of people they didn’t know, or barely knew, it wasn’t long, however, before Crowley retreated from the yard into the house. He was able to endure most things, but being cornered by an old man with a name that coincidentally rhymed with _prick_, and being “subtly” informed how people should dress was not something he’d stand for. And if by mere coincidence the man went home that night and found mold and moth eaten holes in every piece of clothing of his closet, well, that was just bad luck.

Either way, he was getting a little tired of attempting to talk to people, and he wasn’t even going to pretend to enjoy Anathema’s and Aziraphale’s in depth astrology conversation, nor was he going to seek out Margie who was apparently trying to get Isabella and Oliver to help her quell some kind of ongoing disaster in the kitchen, if all the yelling was anything to go by. There was also some yelling about Oliver’s girlfriend having left, and there was no way Crowley was going anywhere near that kitchen any time soon. Newt, beyond greeting pleasantries and an uncomfortable compliment, barely said more that two words and hid next to Anathema, which baffled Crowley. Wasn’t the kid related to the woman yelling in the kitchen? And Preeti just looked terrified when he even looked in his direction, so it was really better to recharge inside. He slipped into the living room, settling on the couch, arms sprawled over the back and legs crossed, head dropping back as he let out a cosmic sigh that could have caved the roof in.

That was when Crowley noticed another presence in the room.

Looking over towards the other end of the couch, he spotted a child staring at him from her too close proximity to the television, probably nine or ten, with cool brown skin. Her black hair was pulled up in a ponytail that didn't seem to want to stay in any proper position, and she wore sunglasses with silvery frames and smokey purple lenses.

They both stared at each other for a moment.

"I like your sunglasses," the girl offered quietly, and Crowley scoffed.

"Please," Crowley drawled. "Yours are so much cooler." The girl didn't smile at this, but she did perk up. She pushed herself up and came closer, just to the edge of the couch. 

"What's your name?"

"Crowley. What's yours?"

"Aleena."

"Why aren't you playing or something?"

"There are no other kids," Aleena lamented, leaning her entire torso in a dramatic fit of sorrow. Crowley already liked her. "Isabella use to talk to me, but now she just texts and stuff and makes this gross face when I try to say things."

"That sucks," Crowley replied honestly.

"Yeah. Do you wear your glasses everywhere?" She said this in such a way that Crowley got the feeling that's what she wanted to know since she appeared a minute ago.

"I do. I have an eye condition."

"Does it hurt?"

"No," Crowley admitted. "It just makes people uncomfortable, so I keep them covered." He didn't think it necessary to mention the person who was made most uncomfortable by them was himself. "What about you? Do you always wear your sunglasses at night?"

"Yeah. And mine do hurt. So does my head - I get migraines and too much bright light can make them happen so I wear sunglasses. It's awful."

"That sounds awful," Crowley replied, horrified. "How long have you had them?"

Aleena shrugged. "Few years. They were worse before the sunglasses. And the shots."

Just then the front door opened and a very handsome black woman in what could only be described as a power suit walked in. Aleena perked up even more and launched herself at the woman, who caught the young girl, laughing.

"You're back!"

"Of course I am," the woman said in an accent that was distinctly Cornish. "I said I would be. Are you having fun?"

Aleena shook her head, then pointed at Crowley. Crowley tensed. "Simone, he wears sunglasses all the time too."

"Oh?" The woman, Simone, looked over at Crowley, and Crowley waved from his position on the couch. "She isn't bothering you, is she?"

This drew out an annoyed scoff from Aleena and a long, drawn out, offended “Simoooone!”

"Children don't bother me," Crowley replied, tone bored even as internally he struggled not to start laughing. "Adults do."

Simone stared at him a moment longer then stroked Aleena's hair. "Why don't you go find Preeti?"

Aleena rolled her eyes, and instead planted herself back in front of the television. Sighing, the woman looked back at Crowley. "I'm assuming you're one of the neighbors since you're here?"

"What, this is a thing that happens all the time?" Crowley asked, incredulous, and the woman grinned a little. "Yeah, yeah I am. Just moved into the house next door, actually."

"Oh, we were wondering who moved into that thing!" Simone exclaimed, and took the opportunity to sit on the couch next to Crowley. "It was so bizarre, seeing that old derelict house suddenly not be derelict anymore."

"I'll bet." Crowley didn't bother to ask who "we" were. He had a fair idea who composed that group.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you..."

"Crowley."

"Crowley," the woman repeated, smiling. "I'm Simone. I live on the other side of you-"

Now Crowley was the one perking up. "Would it be the house with the stunning polyanthus?"

Simone blinked at him.

"The primrose around the rocks."

"Oh!" Simone laughed. "Yes, it is! I'll admit, Preeti knows far more about the plants than I do. I'm gone a lot unfortunately, so she and Aleena pick them out usually."

Aleena leaned her head back. "You said you like roses, so I thought you'd like primroses too."

Simone's smile only brightened further. "And I do, darling. Absolutely."

When Aleena turned back to the television, Crowley spoke again. “Your daughter, she told me about her migraines.”

“Oh. Well- she's not my daughter. She's Preeti's niece. And yes.” Simone sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “She’s had them for ages. I don’t know what else to do about it.” Simone gave him a considering look. “Are your sunglasses - you know -”

“Eye condition. Coloboma,” Crowley said automatically, and there was an odd sound from Aleena that quickly became a very loud coughing fit. “I don’t know much about migraines, really, I just thought you should know that I know.”

“Oh. That’s all right,” Simone replied. “Aleena can tell who she wants, it’s not like they’re a family secret. I just wish she didn’t have them to tell people about.”

“I understand.” Crowley, now feeling rather uncomfortable about the whole thing, picked himself up off the couch. “I also understand you haven’t met my partner yet, will you allow me to introduce you?”

Simone, surprised as hell, barely seemed to notice she had taken Crowley’s hand to help her up. “Uh- yes?”

\---

Aziraphale, as expected, was still deep in conversation with Anathema when Crowley returned to the backyard. The loud trio of men had quieted considerably and seemed to be in the middle of some kind of whispered argument. But regardless, Aziraphale noticed Crowley almost immediately when he and an unfamiliar woman exited the house.

"Aziraphale, this is Simone. Another neighbor. Simone, Aziraphale."

"A pleasure," Simone said, as Aziraphale clasped her hand in both of his, as he was wont to do the entire evening. “Delighted to meet you, my dear,” Aziraphale greeted, smiling. The smiles seemed to come easier these days, and he had more than enough to spare for everyone that wasn't Crowley.

Just then Preeti appeared out of nowhere, squeezing Simone in a massive bear hug and jostling her out of Aziraphale's grasp. "Simone! I missed you!"

Simone hugged Preeti back just as tightly. "I missed you too. How've things been?"

Aziraphale was so caught up in the sudden upswing of Love Is In The Air that it took longer than Crowley would have liked to get his attention, to the point where he actually had to tug on Aziraphale's sleeve

“Aziraphale, can I talk to you for a second?” Crowley asked, beckoning him towards the house. Aziraphale gave him a concerned look.

“Of course - I’ll be right back,” Aziraphale said mostly to Anathema (who waved him off with a smile) as Simone and Preeti were still wrapped up in greeting each other, and followed Crowley inside. “Is everything all right?”

“Peachy,” Crowley replied. He tugged Aziraphale through a door into kind of closet, and pressed Aziraphale against the shelves, kissing him hard. Aziraphale’s mouth immediately opened for Crowley, his hands finding their way to Crowley’s back, pressing against his spine there.

“What was that for?” Aziraphale asked, feeling dazed as Crowley pulled away, pressing his face against Aziraphale’s neck. Crowley minutely shook his head, and Aziraphale just let his hands trail soothingly over his spine.

“I’ve had to talk to people,” Crowley mumbled into his neck.

Aziraphale swallowed an amused grin and patted his back. “Oh you poor thing,” he cooed. Aziraphale nudged him back a little and asked, in a heretofore unheard of _breathy_ tone (to Crowley’s knowledge), “Would you like me to kiss it better?”

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Uh-"

Suddenly the small room (which now revealed itself to be the larder) flooded with light, making both of them jump as someone cleared their throat. They looked over to see Margie, hands folded over her chest, eyebrows raised at them. “Ah, there you two are. I just came to tell you that dinner is ready, if you two gentlemen would care to join us?”

Aziraphale and Crowley followed Margie out, Aziraphale readjusting his waistcoat which had become very wrinkled and slightly unbuttoned during his and Crowley’s time out in the larder. “I’m terribly sorry my dear woman-”

Margie cut Aziraphale off with a wave of her hand, and Crowley saw she was grinning. “Would hardly be the first time I’ve had to interrupt people necking, though usually it’s teenagers I have to do it to.”

“Right,” Aziraphale replied faintly. Crowley, to Aziraphale's delighted surprise, placed a comforting hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck, and Aziraphale cast him a brief, thankful smile. If absolutely nothing else, it was worth watching Crowley blush.

“No harm done.” Margie collected the bottles of wine, including the sherry Aziraphale had brought over. “I remember the honeymoon phase I had with my ex.”

“Er,” was all Crowley or Aziraphale had to say to that.

Dinner was Lancashire hotpot, and lots of it. Aside from the gelatin salad Crowley brought, there was some kind of fluffy salad someone in the group said they had stumbled over the recipe and just _had_ to have everyone try it. Aziraphale quite enjoyed it, while Crowley whispered something about how they should have kept the recipe to themselves. Mick for some reason was looking absolutely miserable with his plate full of fish gelatin.

Sometime in the middle of dinner, Aziraphale, in the middle of chatting animatedly with Margie and Anathema, simply took Crowley's hand where it was laying on the table, lacing their fingers together and making Crowley nearly choke on his wine. What Aziraphale didn't see was Simone winking at Crowley and nudging Preeti, while Aleena made a mock gagging noise, and Isabella started giggling.

\---

"Look," Aziraphale stated as they left the house later that night, the air cold, their breath creating massive, foggy clouds as they wrapped themselves tighter into their coats. "Look. You just don't pair Amontillado with any kind of red meat!" Aziraphale lamented. "I just couldn't let it happen, so I miracled a bottle of Oloroso."

"I'm not even sure they'd notice," Crowley replied, pulling Aziraphale closer, his demon reptilian blood unable to handle this bloody weather.

"_I'd_ notice," Aziraphale said peevishly, and Crowley leaned onto Aziraphale, and Aziraphale grunted, slipping an arm around Crowley's waist so they both didn't topple over.

"I guess at least you didn't have to go into the basement for it?" Crowley grinned at Aziraphale, and Aziraphale scowled.

"You're laughing at me."

"Maybe," Crowley said almost directly into Aziraphale's ear. There might have been some accidental tongue involved too, and Aziraphale shuddered.

"Stop that!"

"Sssorry."

Aziraphale shook his head, but Aziraphale had nothing more to say on the matter as they reached the door. Before Aziraphale could fumble for any keys, Crowley merely waved the door open and tugged himself out of Aziraphale's embrace.

"Remind me," Crowley said, collapsing against a wall so he could dig his feet out of his heels, "Why did I think these shoes were a good idea?"

"Something about bookending your look," Aziraphale replied, shutting the door and taking off his overcoat. He hung it neatly in the hall closet and stepped over the red-orange heel that Crowley had flung into the hallway. The other followed a second later. "Though I will admit, I have no idea what bookends and clothing have to do with one another."

"You really are hopeless sometimes," Crowley responded, rubbing at the soles of his feet. He didn't know who came up with heels, but it must have been humans. They were far too diabolical for anyone in Hell to come up with.

"How about some music? I know just the thing." He snapped his fingers, and music slowly filled the room. It took Crowley a minute to place it, and when he did, he stared at Aziraphale in utter disbelief.

"Is that a fucking orchestral arrangement of Fat Bottomed Girls?"

There was a sly look on Aziraphale’s face gave everything away. "Now we can both enjoy your barbershop quartet."

"Ba - sh -" Crowley bristled. "You take that back."

Aziraphale’s grin widened into a proper smile, and he stepped over to Crowley, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist. “Only if you dance with me.”

“What is it with you and dancing?” Crowley mumbled as his arms wound around Aziraphale’s neck. He was hardly complaining, he’d gladly spend the next eternity dancing cheek to cheek with Aziraphale, even if it was just this slow sway they were doing.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Aziraphale confessed, lifting a hand to let his fingers trail over Crowley's hairline, lingering over that not-quite-a-tattoo. “I’m just asking for what I want now.”

Crowley stilled as Aziraphale's fingers rested on the arms of his sunglasses, breath caught in his throat. He watched Aziraphale swallow hard and realized that Aziraphale was feeling just as much as he was. What and where he didn't know, but it helped him find his voice. _Ask for what you want._ "You can take them off."

A small smile graced Aziraphale's mouth. "You're sure?"

Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale gently pulled the sunglasses off and carefully placed them on a nearby bookshelf. “Your eyes are beautiful, you know.”

“Angel-”

“Just like the rest of you.”

Heart stuttering, hammering, threatening to leap out of his chest, Crowley only managed to get the words out. “Well. Takes one to know one.” He immediately wanted to bang his head against a wall, but forgot why or even that he had a thought in his head when Aziraphale, dear, wonderful Aziraphale, slid a hand into Crowley’s hair and pulled him into a hungry, open-mouthed kiss.

Crowley gave into the kiss fully, one arm dropping to curve around Aziraphale’s waist, the other still around his neck. He wanted to squeeze the breath out of Aziraphale, perhaps even swallow him whole. Aziraphale was never quiet when they kissed, and it proved to still be true, either sighing, gasping, whimpering, even moaning when Crowley sank his teeth into Aziraphale’s bottom lip and tugged, fingers curled tight in Crowley’s hair. Crowley soothed the bite with his tongue, then twisted it into Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale hummed, fingers still in Crowley’s hair, clenching and unclenching as he sucked on Crowley’s tongue.

It was Crowley who broke away with a shuddering gasp, breathing harshly, eyes screwed shut. His hands found Aziraphale’s shoulders as he took a loud, crackling breath. “Sorry. It - got a bit much.”

“Don’t apologize,” Aziraphale murmured, cupping Crowley’s face and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. The wrinkled tension there smoothed out immediately. “All right?”

“Yes.” Crowley said, then, without any warning, he kissed the tip of Aziraphale’s nose. Aziraphale’s face scrunched, but it didn’t mask the smile that threatened his entire face. 

One of Crowley’s hands slipped down Aziraphale’s chest, above the beating of his earthly heart, and Aziraphale pressed his fingers between Crowley’s, bringing his hand to his lips and kissing the knuckles. “Keep dancing with me?”

Crowley nodded, and pressed his cheek against Aziraphale’s, arms wrapped around each other as they swayed to the ridiculous notion of Queen as played by the Royal Philharmonic orchestra. But the funny thing was, it didn’t seem strange or ridiculous at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Glace Fish Mold](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6uAxAL02hu0/VKqaZuCqtUI/AAAAAAAAWo0/gUmyNovoj8A/s1600/fish-aspic-mold.jpg)
> 
> [Fat Bottomed Girls - Orchestral](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vHJE7xcVW-g)
> 
> Click these links at your own risk.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I know this took a while to get out, thank you so much for your patience. I had dealings with starting a new job, so that was fun. 
> 
> Also, a heads up, I did have to retcon some things in chapter four.
> 
> A huge thank you to sassysnowperson for betaing this chapter!

That weekend after the dinner party, the garden surrounding the as of yet unnamed cottage gained a new visitor in the form of the ten year old named Aleena. She appeared around the house and watched Crowley garden for several minutes before Crowley decided to break the ice. "What's up kid?"

Aleena made a face. "The sky."

Crowley couldn't help but laugh. "Very observant. I like your scarf. You like Ravenclaw?"

"Yep," Aleena replied, nodding. "Aunt Preeti made it for me. Said it suited my inquisitive nature."

"Hey, nothing wrong with that," Crowley said, even as he felt that old, familiar pang in his chest.

"Never said there was," Aleena informed him loftily.

"Whooo-ee kid. What do you plan on doing with that attitude? Ruling the world?"

"No. I want to be an astronomer."

Crowley nearly dropped his clippers. "What now?"

"You know. Study stars and planets and nebula and things. I want to know how the universe works."

Swallowing hard, Crowley attacked a branch that was protruding from the bush. "I made some of those, you know."

"Made what?"

"The stars, planets, nebulas, and things."

Aleena rolled her eyes. "You did not."

"Did so."

"You'd have to be a billion years old."

"How do you know I'm not?"

Aleena rolled her eyes again and stuck her tongue out at him. Crowley, millennia old being that he was, returned the gesture.

“You know, we’re all really made of the same stuff,” Crowley continued. “You, me, the stars, even the flowers. And people are like their own little universes, full of so many things, thoughts, feelings, ideas, questions, memories. You could really study anything and learn about the universe.”

“Sure,” Aleena said, nodding, “but I like stars the best.”

“Fair enough.”

“You like flowers the best then? Or just plants? I mean, my aunt likes them because they’re pretty and she likes being outside. Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Like plants because they’re pretty?”

“Sometimes. I like them better when they do as they’re told.” This was said directly to the lupines.

“Plants can’t listen,” Aleena said matter-of-factly. “They don’t have ears.”

“Oh yeah? What about corn, then?”

“That is _not_ the same thing!”

“Is too. Plants can even talk.” Crowley couldn’t help but laugh when he saw Aleena’s unimpressed look. “All right, look, you’ve heard of flower language?” Aleena nodded. “It’s like talking with plants. Everything has a different meaning.”

“So you can send like, secret messages or something?”

“Exactly.” A thought struck Crowley and he slipped a hand behind his back. With a quick snap he produced a book and handed it to Aleena. Aleena stared.

“Where did that come from?”

“My back pocket,” said Crowley, still holding the book that was much too large for any back pocket. The skeptical look Aleena gave him was magnificent.

“You’re just a magician, aren’t you.”

“I most certainly am _not,”_ Crowley replied sourly.

“Something against magicians?”

“Only rubbish ones who won’t listen to reason.”

Aleena gave him an odd look, but finally took the book, a smile spreading across her face. Crowley suddenly had an overwhelming urge to ruffle the kid’s hair. “Thanks Mr. Crowley. I promise I’ll take good care of it.”

“You’d better, it’s over a hundred years old.”

“Like you?” Aleena’s smile morphed into a grin.

Crowley made an offended noise. “All right, get out of here Miss Cheeky, before I get my pitchfork and run you off.” Aleena only cackled at him before dashing off.

“Well, we are over a hundred years old, you have to give her that.” Aziraphale’s voice made Crowley jump, and he spun around. Aziraphale was leaning out one of the cottage windows, leaning so far out, in fact, he looked like he was going to fall out. He was wearing that damn, cheesy smile that always made Crowley feel all -- well. Noodle-y? _Damn it._ Crowley fervently wished he had something dramatically throw to the ground, but lacking that, he yanked his sunglasses off instead as he advanced on the window.

“Been making friends?” Aziraphale asked cheerfully.

Crowley _scoffed._ Scoffed and scowled as he tucked his sunglasses in the vee of his collar. He was absolutely going to give Aziraphale what for. “Ngk. Er.”

Aziraphale’s grin widened. “You know,” he began, and Crowley Knew That Tone.

“Angel, don’t you dare--”

“You really are the sweetest--”

“NGK--”

“The kindest, gentlest--”

Face positively burning to the point Crowley was sure he was about to spontaneously combust, he lurched forward, clamping a hand over Aziraphale’s mouth. “Don’t. I’m not...” 

The words trailed off as Aziraphale calmly pulled Crowley’s hand away from his mouth, keeping hold of it, thumb dragging light circles over Crowley’s palm. Crowley couldn’t suppress his shudder.

“Not what?” Aziraphale’s voice was soft. “I’m not just saying these things. Your actions are telling me everything.” He cupped Crowley’s cheek. ”They tell me you _are_ kind. You _are_ generous. You’re so sweet, so gentle-”

Unable to take it anymore, Crowley twisted the fingers of his free hand into Aziraphale’s shirt and kissed him. Aziraphale hummed, the hand cupping Crowley’s cheek moving to tangle in his hair as he opened his mouth and tilted his head for a better angle. Their joined hands rearranged themselves, fingers lacing together, palms kissing.

“Oh shit! Sorry!” 

The voice shattered the moment, Crowley jerking away in surprise as Aziraphale almost did fall out the window this time since Crowley was still hanging onto him when he pulled backwards. They looked over, spotting Aleena’s aunt, Preeti, standing on the other side of the fence, wringing her hands and looking embarrassed as all hell.

“Quite all right my dear,” Aziraphale called out, using Crowley as leverage to hoist himself properly back through the window. “Just enjoying the afternoon. Right?” He grinned at Crowley.

Crowley made an effort at a response, but just ended up growling at Aziraphale as he slipped his sunglasses back on. He then beckoned to Preeti, who looked mildly alarmed before finding the gate.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she said once she had reached the patio, stopping next to the table. “For the book you gave Aleena. That was very nice of you.”

A strange coughing noise left Aziraphale, but was the face of pure innocence when Crowley glowered at him. “Ah, if you need me, I’ll be inside. Pip pip!”

When the window closed, Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, dropping his hand. “Aleena already did, and even so, I didn’t do it for the thanks. She was interested, I had the means to feed that interest. That’s all.”

“Still.”

Crowley gave Preeti a long look. “Is it about the book?”

Preeti shook her head a little. “Yes and no. I just -- she’s not bothering you, is she?”

“Odd question. Why would you think that?”

Something flashed in Preeti’s eyes, but it was gone by the time she spoke. “We’ve had problems in the past. A lot of people view her curious nature to be more akin to troublemaking than what it is. She’s a good kid, really.”

“She is.”

"She asks a lot of questions."

"Nothing wrong with that," Crowley said, echoing his sentiments from earlier.

"I know," Preeti replied. "But not everyone feels that way."

Crowley hummed and readjusted his sunglasses. "I know the feeling." 

Preeti gave him a curious look, but didn't comment. "I hope you don't mind a question of my own."

"Ask away."

"It might be a bit rude-"

"Ruder the better."

Preeti gave Crowley a very odd look before clearing her throat. "Aleena calls you the Snake Man."

Despite not being phrased as a question, Crowley heard it. He also started laughing so hard he doubled over.

“I guess I’m glad you’re not offended,” Preeti said, managing to sound both confused and amused at the same time. 

Crowley merely waved a hand at her through his peals of laughter. Wiping at the tears in his eyes with one hand (under the sunglasses of course). “I showed her my eyes. I have a rare eye condition called coloboma. ‘S why I wear sunglasses all the time.”

“Ah. Right.” Preeti took a step closer. “Honestly I thought it was because of this,” she said, pointing at her temple as a way of explanation. 

Crowley stared for a moment before the dots connected. “You mean the snake tattoo?” Hah. _Tattoo._

“Yes. It suits you, if I may say so.”

“Thanks,” Crowley replied, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He tried to shove his hands into his pockets, but there wasn’t much pocket so he only managed half a hand each. "Er - so. Um. You garden do you? That girl Simone was telling me about it the other day."

Preeti's face lit up. "Oh yes, I love gardening! I was going to ask you, how you managed to get your columbine to grow so quickly?"

"Miracles," Crowley said straight faced, and Preeti rolled her eyes. Like aunt like niece?

"No, I'm serious. I've been trying to plant them in the rock garden but they never take and I have no idea what I'm doing wrong."

"Huh. Mind if we head over to take a look?"

\---

Crowley and Preeti were well into their discussion of how to best plant columbine, which somehow had descended into the subject of original citrus fruit species, when Simone came out of the house. When Preeti saw her crossing the yard, her face immediately lit up.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Crowley, the wickedest man in the world,” Simone greeted, wrapping her arms around Preeti as she spoke.

“Hardly,” Crowley replied automatically. “Nice to see you again Simone.”

“Likewise. And here you are with the most beautiful woman in the world,” Simone continued. Preeti ducked her head, but wrapped an arm around Simone. “What’s going on?” Simone asked, looking at Preeti, then at Crowley. “Yard party?”

“Just talking about gardening,” Crowley replied. 

“So it is a yard party,” Simone said, grinning.

As Preeti rolled her eyes, Aleena, who had been nearby looking suspiciously between the primrose and her book, jumped up. “Simone! Look, my new book, Mr. Crowley gave it to me!”

Crowley watched them, Aleena chattering excitedly over her new (old) book. He watched as Simone and Preeti fawned over Aleena, but he didn't miss the casual touches they shared. Something caught in Crowley's throat, a traitorous lump forming, choking him. He wondered, did they overthink every look? Every touch? Were either of them afraid the wrong move might scare the other off? Did they ever wonder that this might be so fleeting it scared them that they only pretended to sleep some nights? Crowley swallowed hard. He couldn’t stand there another minute; if he did, he might lose his mind.

He barely got a few steps before Preeti called out to him. “You leaving?”

“Yeah, um, got a lot to do.”

“You sure? I was going to ask you in for tea,” Preeti said. Crowley waved her off.

“Sorry, another time.” Crowley took himself across the pavement, willing himself not to run. He wasn’t running. He was sure of it.

Reaching the fence, Crowley had a hand on the gate when realized he couldn’t bring himself to go inside, either. It would be warm, and Aziraphale would be there. He couldn’t bear walking into that domesticity right now. He hated that he couldn’t let himself enjoy this. Hypocritical of him, really, when it was always him offering everything to Aziraphale. _Come away with me, anywhere, please_. Maybe that was the rub, Crowley thought to himself. Part of him wondered if he just wore Aziraphale down. That Aziraphale was just humoring him for a while. Maybe he planned on leaving after a few years. Wander off like they both did sometimes, leaving Crowley with an empty house and an equally empty heart.

Hand tightening on the cold metal, he pushed the gate open when something caught his eye. Leaving the gate, he slowly approached the plant, kneeling down and reaching out to examine the leaves closely.

There was an odd, zigzag pattern on the leaves, and many of the new ones were coming in just as discolored and puckered. Heart seizing in his chest, Crowley continued looking over the plant, finding the same thing all over. He knew what this was, he knew what the Austrian rose was sick with. He could try miracling it better, but - it may have already infected the other roses. How had he only noticed this now? (Logically, he knew it was because symptoms of rose mosaic disease showed more prominently in the spring and autumn, but Logic and Crowley weren’t on speaking terms right then).

Crowley had helped shape the cosmos, crafting nebulas to birth the stars, those pinpoints of burning light. He built everything off the spiral architecture of the universe, concentric circles that tightened and expanded on itself, a breathing, living thing. Some of those stars exploded, creating new nebulas to form new stars. Other stars collapsed in on themselves, creating dense animals that sent out waves of matter into the aether. Or sucked in matter and crushed them. 

He stared at the rose bush, a creature of star matter, at its yellowed, zigzagged patterned leaves. This one rose bush, of all the plants, the one that Aziraphale gave him with that smile, and it made him want to scream, tear it out of the ground and turn it back into stardust.

“Why you?” Crowley hissed, eyes stinging, feeling the world reeling away from him. “Out of everything, why you?”

He stalked off, through the gate and around the house, only to cascade into one of the patio chairs. The same patio he and Aziraphale had shared so many meals already. How pathetic that he was attached to this place so much already. Pulling off his sunglasses, Crowley rubbed his tired, aching eyes. What a load of bollocks. Kind, generous, bullshit. He was a failure and a coward. Why on earth would Aziraphale want anything to do with him? Why on _earth_ would Aziraphale want to stay with him?

Crowley remained at the table, head in his hands, oblivious to the darkening sky and the storm clouds rolling in.

\---

Aziraphale was curled up under a lovely soft grey throw, with an Elizabeth Gaskell novel and a cup of cocoa sitting on a side table (which was still a packing box). It wasn't until the first drops of rain started spattering against the windows that Aziraphale looked up and realized it was very dark out.

Usually, when Crowley came in, he would always snatch whatever Aziraphale was working on or reading and kiss away all of Aziraphale’s protests before heading off to take a shower, leaving a trail of clothes behind. It was maddening, to say the least, even if Crowley did collect everything after he was finished showering. Even if Aziraphale did appreciate Crowley’s collarbone more than he probably should and had a tendency to watch him pull off his shirt (Aziraphale refused to acknowledge the time he had asked Crowley if he was trying to make him “warm for his form” and Crowley had started laughing so hard Aziraphale was surprised he didn’t discorporate. He also felt the week of teasing afterwards was uncalled for).

But he always came in before dark. Always.

Aziraphale set the book and throw aside, stretching his cramped legs. A simple glance at the time drove any mincing concern Aziraphale had into full blown worry. Snatching his umbrella from the stand beside the door, Aziraphale headed out into the rain, intent on doing a house to house search if necessary.

He stopped the second he rounded the outside of the cottage and saw the dark shape slouching in one of the patio chairs. He spied Crowley's sunglasses flung carelessly onto the table as he approached, and held his umbrella over an extremely soaked Crowley. "My dear, are you all right?"

Crowley started, turning wide eyes up at him, and Aziraphale sucked in a shocked breath when he glimpsed the watery, red-rimmed eyes. Crowley looked utterly _miserable._

“Good heavens -- Crowley --”

Crowley’s head jerked back down and he wiped at his eyes, sniffing as he did so, and Aziraphale could feel his heart breaking. Reaching out, Aziraphale pressed his hand to Crowley’s shoulder. “It’s cold out. Please come inside.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I did NOT expect to get this chapter finished _this quickly_. Usually it takes way more time. Anyway, I'd really like to give a shout out to all the amazing artists in the GO fandom, a lot of that art helped inspire some portions of this fic.
> 
> Oh, and if anyone's curious, the book Aziraphale is reading in this chapter is _The Ghost and Mrs. Muir_. 10/10, would recommend.

Aziraphale bundled Crowley inside and into the bathroom, setting the forgotten umbrella by the door before heading to the tub and turning on the water. “First thing’s first, we need to get you warmed up.”

“No need to make a fuss,” Crowley said, voice flat. Aziraphale didn’t like it.

“Nonsense.” Aziraphale ran his hand under the tap to check the temperature and plugged the drain. “You’re wet and chilled to the bone. A bath will be just the thing. Do you want bubbles?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley, who hadn’t moved from the spot Aziraphale had left him in the middle of the bathroom. “Plan on bathing with your clothes on?”

“They’re already wet,” Crowley replied dryly, but he started pulling his jacket off. Aziraphale turned back to the faucet, giving Crowley a modicum of privacy while he disrobed. He added in some bubble bath, because _he_ liked bubbles, and they always cheered him up some. Aziraphale could tell Crowley needed a bit of cheering.

“I’ll get some towels,” Aziraphale stated once he turned off the tap. He rose from his seat, flicking the excess water away with a miracle. “And start the kettle, of course. I’m sure you’ll feel much better once- Crowley?”

Crowley, now undressed, cursed colorfully, wiping futilely at his face. Aziraphale approached, laying gentle hands on his arms and pulling them away from his torso. Crowley took a shuddering breath and turned his head away from Aziraphale, more tears leaking out from under his tightly closed eyelids.

Aziraphale wiped a few tears away with this fingers and turned Crowley’s head gently. “What’s the matter, dear?”

“It’s nothing angel,” Crowley replied shakily. “Go make your tea.”

Aziraphale frowned, not believing Crowley for a second, especially considering the state he had found Crowley in. The state was still in. When more tears slipped down Crowley’s cheeks, Aziraphale couldn’t help himself, heart squeezing painfully as he pulled Crowley into his arms.

Unbeknownst Aziraphale, this was too much for Crowley. A second later Aziraphale found his entire world tilting and suddenly Crowley twisted them both, landing them directly into the bath.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale sputtered when they resurfaced, bubbles and water now everywhere. He wiped away the ones that insisted on slipping into his eyes. “What on earth was that for?”

“‘M a demon,” Crowley replied simply, pushing his hair out of his face only for half of it to flop back. A tendril of bubbles trailed over his collarbones and Aziraphale tried not to stare. “I do evil.”

“You and I both know that throwing someone in the bath is not proper evil.”

“Can be. Depends on the response. Depends if someone gets hurt.”

Aziraphale shifted, trying to get a better view of Crowley’s face and grimaced at the feel of his soggy clothes against his body. “Do you want me to be hurt? Or angry?”

Crowley shook his head, and that look of utter misery returned to his face. Aziraphale sighed and pressed a palm to Crowley’s cheek. “Then why?”

There was silence for a moment as Crowley took a few desperate, shuddering breaths. “Oh, for _fuck’s sake_,” Crowley grit out, right before another sob erupted from his throat. Aziraphale didn’t hesitate gathering Crowley into his arms again. This time Crowley cinched his arms around Aziraphale, burying his head in Aziraphale’s shoulders as he began sobbing. They were slow, painful things that wracked Crowley’s entire body, and Aziraphale felt his own eyes stinging from more than just the bubble bath. He made soft shushing noises into Crowley’s sodden hair, stroking Crowley’s back as he did so.

An eternity later, when the sobs had finally subsided and Crowley had taken to breathing shakily, Aziraphale cleared his throat of the lump that had formed there. “Can you tell me what’s the matter, Crowley? Please?”

Crowley shook his head. “It’s ridiculous.”

“I hardly think it would be ridiculous if it put you in such a state.”

Crowley swallowed audibly, not lifting his head from Aziraphale’s shoulder.  
Aziraphale continued stroking soothing hands down Crowley’s back, waiting patiently for Crowley to speak.

“I… you…” Crowley swallowed again. “You’re not planning on - er - leaving. Or anything. Are you?”

Aziraphale’s hands paused, surprise washing over him. “Why on earth would I leave? Have I been giving you any indications that I might? Because-”

“No,” Crowley interrupted, voice thick again. “No. I just - I mean, it’s - this isn’t common. For us. Spending so much time in one place.”

“Except for a rather long stint as a nanny and gardener, if I recall correctly. And let’s not forget that debacle in Babylon.”

“That wasn’t my fault.”

“Yes dear, you’ve told me many times.” Aziraphale resumed running his hands over Crowley’s back. “My point is, I always thought that was more a symptom of the offices we worked for. I am exactly where I want to be.”

“Fully clothed in a bathtub with an overemotional demon?”

“Admittedly, the situation is not ideal, but yes.” Aziraphale shifted, the water squelching in his shoes. He bit his lip; the current discussion had brought some of his trepidation to the front of his brain again and now he couldn’t help asking. “And you? Might be silly to ask now, but… I don’t have to worry about you flitting off either, do I?”

“First off,” Crowley said crossly into Aziraphale’s shoulder, before lifting his head so he could fix Aziraphale with an unimpressed look. “I don’t _flit_ anywhere. Second, Heaven and Hell couldn’t drag me away-”

The sentence stopped abruptly, and while Aziraphale wondered what Crowley cut off at the end, it didn’t matter all that much. Aziraphale smiled, feeling lighter. “Ah, well. Good. We’re on the same page.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “Indeed.”

“Now that that’s settled,” Aziraphale started, brushing a lock of Crowley’s hair away from his face, letting his fingers trail down his cheek as he pressed a kiss to his temple. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

\---

Getting Crowley cleaned up apparently involved Aziraphale getting out of the tub and undressing as well, letting his water-laden clothes slop onto the floor. Crowley watched, arms hooked over the side of the tub with an expression one might call fond. Though he was definitely grinning when Aziraphale dumped water out of his shoes.

When Aziraphale turned back, he nudged Crowley forward. “Scoot.”

“What for?” Crowley asked, even as he did as Aziraphale asked. Aziraphale stepped back into the tub behind Crowley and wrapped his arms around him, pulling Crowley back against his chest.

“All right?” Aziraphale’s breath was warm against Crowley’s ear, making Crowley shudder.

“Yeah.”

There was the telltale sound of a bottle opening, and a moment later Aziraphale was sliding his fingers into Crowley’s hair, massaging his scalp and running shampoo through the strands. Crowley’s head tilted back, positive he was going to melt. That would certainly be a mess to clean.

In their attempts to wash each other, there was a lot of odd maneuvering which eventually had Crowley facing Aziraphale, straddling his lap (Crowley had to wonder, why give an angel such exquisite thighs? Seemed sacreligious, so of course Crowley approved even more). As Crowley ran the washcloth over Aziraphale’s shoulders, watching Aziraphale’s head dip. He was completely surprised by the kiss the angel planted below his throat.

“You have lovely collarbones,” Aziraphale murmured against Crowley’s skin. Crowley couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him.

“I prefer a well turned ankle,” he said, giving up on washing and dropping the cloth into the water.

Aziraphale could contain neither his grin nor his blush and he swatted Crowley lightly, playfully. “Cad. I assume you say that to everyone.”

“Only when I notice, and I’ve only ever noticed yours.”

“My my, aren’t we charming.”

“Am not.”

“Right, my dear, I forgot.” Aziraphale slipped his hands up over Crowley’s arms, twining them around his neck. “You’re a dastardly, dangerous demon.”

“Damn right.”

“A charming-”

“Azir-”

“A charming demon! What could be better?” Aziraphale pressed on, smiling wide. “A scary demon who’s tender, thoughtful-”

Groaning, Crowley’s head found its way onto Aziraphale’s shoulder again.

“Oh, what else? Yes, genuine-”

“I’m genuinely a demon.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t. Oh, and honest, let’s not forget that-”

“Honestly, a demon.”

“Yes dear. Let’s not forget funny, either.” Crowley made an offended noise. Aziraphale ignored it and curled a couple of strands of Crowley’s hair around his fingers. “Engaging - you’re so wonderful to talk to, dear.”

“Glad you approve.”

There was a pause, and then Aziraphale was pulling back and tilting Crowley’s chin up, looking him over with an unreadable expression. “I do. I absolutely approve of you.”

Well, there was nothing Crowley could bring himself to do except fall back into Aziraphale’s arms. More water sloshed over the floor as Crowley breathed in the scent at Aziraphale’s throat. “Angel.”

Aziraphale’s hands were stroking back into Crowley’s hair. “Dearest.”

\---

When they got out of the tub, before Crowley could miracle on a robe, Aziraphale had his own in hand and pulled it around Crowley's shoulders. It was a terribly soft white terrycloth thing, and Crowley barely stopped himself from snuggling it. Crowley couldn't help but do the same for Aziraphale, the black silk looking a bit strange on the angel, but Crowley rather liked seeing it on him. Aziraphale grabbed a couple of their green towels, draping one over his shoulder and the other over Crowley’s wet hair. With the edges of the green terrycloth covering the peripherals of his vision, framing Aziraphale’s face, Crowley couldn’t help himself. He caught Aziraphale by the waist and kissed him.

Inhaling sharply, Aziraphale’s hands slipped under the towel and cupped the back of Crowley’s head, kissing back tenderly, almost too much so. He could still taste faint traces of cocoa on Aziraphale’s mouth, and chased it, slipping his tongue between the angel’s lips, relishing in the warmth, the soft sigh Aziraphale gave, the way he tilted his head for a better angle. One of Aziraphale’s hands slipped down Crowley’s back, trailing along his spine through the cloth of the robe, settling on the small of his back, pulling him closer.

There was no telling how long they stayed like that, kissing, pulling back with shaky breaths, only to lean in and kiss the other again. When Crowley finally couldn’t take it anymore, he broke away with one of those shaky breaths and pressed his forehead against Aziraphale’s, closing his eyes and trying to remember what equilibrium was and if he ever had such a thing.

“Well,” Aziraphale said after some time, clearing his throat at least twice before managing the word.

“Guh,” Crowley suggested, pulling away from Aziraphale, but not far enough that he’d leave the circle of his arms.

“Yes.” Aziraphale replied, sounding amused. He stepped away, trailing a hand down Crowley's arm so he could catch a hand and press a kiss to the knuckles. "Let's have dinner, shall we?"

Dinner was _croque gagnet_, with gouda cheese and andouille sausage on brioche, eaten with sides of fresh tomato and thick cut chips. The tea, a second flush Darjeeling, paired nicely with the sandwiches and dessert. The dessert in this case was a proper black forest gateau, proper in the sense that it was made using _kirschwasser_.

Even though Crowley didn’t feel much like eating, he ate what was on his plate and sipped almost fitfully at his tea afterwards. Aziraphale, of course, ate as slowly as ever, but at the beginning of their meal, he simply laid his hand on the table palm up, and Crowley took him up on the offer, sliding his hand into Aziraphale’s, where it remained for the entirety of dinner.

It wasn’t until later when they were curled together in bed, that Aziraphale broached the topic again. Crowley was nestled into his side, and Aziraphale, instead of reaching for the book on the nightstand, took Crowley’s hand, lacing their fingers together like he seemed to enjoy.

“Can I ask what happened?”

“About what?”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale sighed. “You were in quite a state earlier. I think you still might be. _Did_ something happen to cause so much emotional distress?”

Crowley let his eyes drift shut and clutched at Aziraphale’s hand. He could mention his difficulty with accepting their intimacy, he could let his feelings roll off his tongue, but his courage was nowhere to be found. _Coward_ his brain snarked at him. “Yeah. But it’s nothing you can fix, angel.”

Aziraphale made a noise in his throat.

“...The plant. The rose you gave me. It’s -- I’ll have to dig it up.”

“Why?”

“‘S got a virus. Mosaic. Could infect the other roses.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale said soothingly.

Crowley twisted around to look at Aziraphale. “Okay? Angel, really? I-”

“It’s a rosebush, Crowley,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I bought it to make you happy.” He pressed a palm to Crowley’s cheek. “I’m not judging you for something that happens naturally. I’d never base our relationship on how well you care for a plant. I’d be silly.”

“Silly,” Crowley said, barely breathing. He felt like he was going to cry again and three times in one night was really too much.

“Well, yes. I’d miss all the other wonderful things about you.” Aziraphale smiled. “I know you’re harsh to your plants, but I also see you care for them meticulously. You're very attentive, my dear.”

Crowley made an inarticulate noise and pillowed his head back on Aziraphale’s shoulder swallowing the lump in his throat. “I guess.”

Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand and retrieved his book. As he cracked it open, Aziraphale spoke again. “Although, my dear, I do think you could be nicer to them. Their flaws make them interesting, don’t you think?” He placed his spectacles on his nose. “Now, where were we? Part two, chapter three?”

Crowley couldn’t help but think as he drifted off to the soothing sound of Aziraphale’s voice, that he hadn’t been talking about the plants at all.

\---

The pull of gravity is too strong, and no matter how much Crowley holds on, no matter how much he coils around Aziraphale, he's still ripped away. The last thing Crowley sees is the look of absolute terror and betrayal on Aziraphale's face before the blackness swallows him whole. Gouts of flame erupted from the black, tall pillars of fire that smelled like burning paper and charred wood--

_"Crowley!"_

One second Crowley was drifting in the emptiness of space, the next he was jerking awake in a small cottage, the room freezing cold and a terrified Aziraphale next to him. Crowley took a gasping breath and closed his eyes again for a moment, the image of Aziraphale from his dream too fresh.

"Oh thank heavens. I thought you weren't going to wake up for a minute there."

"Why wouldn't I?" Crowley asked, voice hoarse. He pressed a hand to his throat. "My throat's sore."

"Er. Yes. You started screaming my name," Aziraphale said, voice strained as he patted Crowley's shoulder with shaky hands. "It was a nasty way to wake up."

"It was a nasty dream," Crowley replied, as Aziraphale snapped the lights on. Crowley could see his hands clearly now, gripping the covers, those brown and blue flannel sheets and dark blue duvet they’d argued over months ago. His fingers tightened.

"Shall I make you some tea?" When Crowley nodded, Aziraphale got out of bed and pulled on his robe. The white terrycloth. For some reason that made Crowley’s throat close up, but it was absurd. When Aziraphale started for the stairs, Crowley panicked, throwing back the covers.

"Wait- just- let me-" Crowley scrambled out of bed, and was surprised when Aziraphale held his robe out for him. Crowley took it, the black silk cold against his skin, and he stared at the white of Aziraphale’s own robe as he followed him down to the kitchen.

As Aziraphale put the kettle on, Crowley wandered a bit aimlessly. A letter from Warlock sat open on the table, the folded creases making it lay like an accordion over the wood. Crowley wandered over and sat at the table, picking up the letter. Crowley had read it out loud that morning over breakfast, Aziraphale hanging on every word, and Crowley found himself smiling over the memory as he tucked the letter safely back into its sticker covered envelope. He let his fingers tap against it, ticking against the wood. When Aziraphale started humming as he set out cups, opening a tin of tea that filled the air with the honey apple scent that reminded Crowley of the first Garden, something in him finally snapped.

"How do you find this so easy?" Crowley asked suddenly, and he could curse himself. He hadn't meant to say anything. Aziraphale looked at Crowley, confused.

"How do I find what so easy?"

Crowley waved his hand around vaguely. "Just- I don't know. Forget I said anything."

Whatever Crowley expected, he was not expecting Aziraphale to set the tea tin down, turn off the kettle and look seriously at Crowley. “There is… something.” He laced his fingers together over his stomach. “Over the years. Something I found so easy it frightened.”

Crowley might have given to teasing Aziraphale about bragging, but with the atmosphere, Crowley was finding it strangely hard to breathe. Stretched thin. Those damn noodles again.

“What’s the something?”

Aziraphale blew out a breath. “Oh dear. I knew you were going to ask me that.”

“Then why say anything?”

At Crowley’s comment, Aziraphale looked at him, with that calculating look that Crowley didn’t like, not one bit. Then Aziraphale was walking over and crowding into Crowley’s space and embracing him. Crowley went absolutely willingly, preferring to wrap his arms around Aziraphale's middle. With all the hard, rigid lines of both Heaven and Hell, Aziraphale was so incredibly soft. So soft, and so warm.

“It was easy, yes, but admitting it is so difficult,” Aziraphale said, fingers finding their way into Crowley’s hair again. “I - oh, this may be silly, but I had hoped to make it some sort of grand declaration during some romantic evening.”

A grand declaration? Romantic? Crowley scarcely dared to breathe. He felt like he knew where Aziraphale was leading them, but it could either be a light at the end of a long tunnel, or an oncoming train.

“What was so frighteningly easy, angel?” His fingers tightened in Aziraphale’s robe. “Tell me. Please.”

Aziraphale was silent, motionless, then he gently, carefully, tilted Crowley’s chin up. It was too much, too much looking into Aziraphale's eyes when he was looking at him like that, like he was precious, like he was cherished, and Crowley was stretched so thin he felt like he might actually break into pieces, like overheated glass, shattered.

“My dear. “ Aziraphale swallowed, and Crowley suddenly noticed the sheen of tears in his eyes. “So many things are difficult, but falling in love with you was the easiest thing. I love you, Crowley, so much. I’m s-”

“Say it again.” Crowley interrupted, sucking in a sharp breath, trying to get air into his burning lungs, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. "Please."

“My dear.” Lifting Crowley's hand, Aziraphale pressed a tender kiss to his palm. "I love you. More than I can possibly say, but I’ll say it as much as you want. I love you. More than anything on this earth.”

“Angel…” Crowley swallowed hard and stood, knocking over the chair as he pulled the angel so tightly into his arms Aziraphale’s ribs may have nearly cracked.

Pressing his mouth against Aziraphale's temple, Crowley’s voice was quiet, whispered against Aziraphale’s skin as the words spilled out of him. Not three little words, but a statement that had been growing in his heart since the first time he spoke to the angel. Aziraphale inhaled sharply, closing his eyes as tears began rolling down his cheeks. He buried his face in Crowley’s shoulder, clinging hard. Crowley could only cling back as they murmured mantras to one another, full of accolades, confirmations, and repeated confessions.

_”You make me believe there’s such a thing as love.”_

\--- **Epilogue** \---

Crowley woke up and shaded his eyes against the sun, just barely refraining from hissing. His head was still pillowed on Aziraphale’s lap, and Aziraphale was still buried in his book.

As Crowley became more aware after waking from his nap, still surrounded by the disarray of abandoned picnic foods, he looked up at the angel. As comfortable as Crowley was, he could think of something else he’d much rather be doing. Crowley plucked Aziraphale's book from his hands. Before the angel could form a vocal protest, Crowley stood and offered his hand. 

"Dance with me?"

Aziraphale smiled, rivaling the sun with its brightness. "I thought you'd never ask.”

It was said, not quite like he was toasting the world, but it felt the same. Aziraphale let Crowley pull him to his feet. They spun through the field, grass bowing beneath their feet, humming whatever they liked best, simply letting themselves delight in one another in the early afternoon light.

Back at a cottage in South Downs, beside a not-so-intimidating wrought iron fence positively noodled with climbing roses, a newly planted cabbage rose put out its first bud, a tiny, squashed thing. It wasn’t perfect, not by far.

It was better.


End file.
